


Situation Normal (A.F.U.)

by samanthahirr



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Attempted Rape, Gen, Sex Pollen, Team Dynamics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-30
Updated: 2010-08-30
Packaged: 2017-10-11 08:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/110530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthahirr/pseuds/samanthahirr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While collecting flora and fauna samples on a routine off-world mission, something goes terribly wrong for Major Lorne's Gate Team. When they get back to Atlantis, the B-Team's soldiers and scientists have to deal with the fallout in a city that's still trying to recover from its own attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Situation Normal (A.F.U.)

**Author's Note:**

> **Warning/Potential Trigger: ** attempted sexual assault  
> **Spoilers: ** through 2.01 _The Siege, Part III_  
> **Beta Thanks:** to the formidable **cinaea**

Most of the sample baggies were full by their second hour on M3X-474. Parrish hadn't stopped speaking into the voice recorder since they'd arrived, delighted with the new and diverse (he didn't like it when Lorne called it "alien") plant life. Schmitz was sulking; he'd dropped the Nikon digital camera and couldn't get it to work. Lorne imagined there'd be hell to pay from McKay when the biologist got back to Atlantis.

Everything was _situation: normal_ so far. Sunshine, only one sun in the sky—he'd learned not to take the simple things for granted—good temperature, no wind, and unchallenging terrain. The woods they were exploring weren't too shadowy or dense, and so far all of the animal tracks were small. Lorne's guard was down and he'd been musing about the chewing-out Schmitz would get from the chiefs for breaking his third camera in as many months. That's why he didn't notice Parrish stooping down in front of him until he'd already walked into the back of him.

"Ouch!" Parrish yelped.

"Damn it," Evan swore as he toppled, catching his fall with one hand on the back of David's head and the other on a squishy green mess on the ground.

"Ow, seriously, get off!" Parrish protested, shoving away Lorne's hand.

"Sorry 'bout that," Lorne muttered, trying to regain his composure and latitude. "Ew," he scowled at his hand. "What is this stuff?"

Parrish looked up at him, pulled his hand down so he could see it better. "Lichen. Moss. Looks like the stuff on M3Y-30 and -118; harmless. But look at these flowers!"

Lorne looked down where David pointed. "Pretty. What do you think?"

"Definitely new to the catalog," David said, pulling a pair of latex gloves out of his back pocket. He put his head right next to one and resumed speaking into the recorder, "Fully mature—thick yellow coating of pollen, short stalks, long petals…."

Lorne waved to Chernowski and called, "Parrish found something. I'll wait here, you two keep with Schmittie." Chernowski waved back, and he and Mueller followed Schmitz toward a brighter clearing up ahead.

Evan patrolled the area (not pacing, _patrolling_) and checked his watch and compass while Parrish droned in the quiet. He wiped the green stuff off on his pants. There was a really ugly bird call coming from up ahead, probably from a really ugly bird, and Schmitz was doubtless cursing about that broken camera again. It was getting warmer; he rubbed at the back of his neck. That's when he noticed the yellow pollen on his sleeve. He squinted at it—it kind of sparkled in the sunlight. But it wasn't just on the uniform.

Oh crap.

"Hey, Parrish, I got some of your pollen on me."

Parrish blinked up at him, squinting against the sunlight filtering through the upper canopy. "You did?"

"Yeah." Stay calm. Just like they'd practiced.

Parrish pocketed his recorder, stood up, and leaned over his arm to see. "Does it itch? Burn?"

"Nope. But I'm feeling _really_ warm all of a sudden."

"Okay, okay, okay," Parrish picked up his backpack and pulled out the field first-aid kit. "Okay, let's get it off your skin and take your temperature. Under your tongue…."

Lorne put the thermometer under his tongue and tried to control his breathing. Panic wasn't going to help. He was used to this. They'd practiced this dozens of times since M3V-145. At least this plant didn't seem to have acid-sap.

He watched David pull out the SaniWipes to rub the pollen off his wrist. It felt cool and obscenely good. Lorne breathed deeply through his nose, and David looked at him sharply. He shook his head, but felt his heart racing way too fast, faster than mere adrenaline would've caused. Something was _wrong_. This wasn't panic; this was a definite reaction.

"I'd better get it off the uniform, too. Just in case." Parrish held his hand and dabbed at his sleeve, and Lorne felt dizzy. As if all the blood in his brain had just rushed to his cock, and, Jesus, what the fuck? "Major?" Parrish was sparkly, just like the pollen, Evan realized. He smiled. Parrish frowned. That wasn't good. "Major, how do you feel now?"

"Hmm-umm," he hummed worriedly, keeping his lips tightly closed around the thermometer.

Parrish released his hand and tucked the used SaniWipe into a sample baggie. "I'll do a full analysis of the pollen when we get back to Atlantis. Just to be sure there aren't any side-effects."

Lorne closed his eyes against the sparkle, but opened them when he felt himself swaying toward Parrish's voice.

"A few more seconds," David was holding the tip of the thermometer now, using his height advantage to read it without pulling it out. His fingers were inches from his lips.

Lorne's eyes rolled back in his head for a moment and he fisted his hands at his sides. His hips wanted to jerk forward, rub up against—

Parrish pulled out the thermometer and shook it twice. "I don't see…your temperature's a _little_ high, but nothing serious. Your eyes…" and he stepped closer, putting his hands on Lorne's face and lifting up his eyelids. Evan tried not to blink. He tried not to lick his lips, either. "…are dilated—sorry, that probably hurt," Parrish said, letting go and pulling his hands away. "Do you think we should head back to Atlantis?"

And then they were kissing and _woah_, who knew David had it in him? Evan's hands were in the scientist's hair, and he was driving his tongue into his mouth and pulling him _closer_, mashing their lips together. And David was squirming—no, pushing—pushing _away_—and Lorne let go.

"Major!" Parrish gasped when he was free. "_Stop _it. I'm sorry, but I'm really…I'm not…I'm just not…"

To hell with being a gentleman. If David couldn't make a complete sentence then he didn't have anything worth saying. He grabbed him by the hair again and tried to kiss him, but Parrish shoved hard and got away.

"What's gotten into you?" Parrish demanded, angry now. "Cool the hell off and stop it. I'm not interested, okay? Unless this is some kind of freaky pollen-reaction-thing, just get over it."

Evan's blood boiled. Son of a bitch. Fucking tease. "Fucking tease," he growled and jumped forward, catching Parrish's arm when the taller man jerked back.

"Damn it, Lorne," he shouted, twisting in his grasp, "let _go_!"

Lorne shut him up with a right hook that sent him sprawling to the ground. David coughed, rolled over, coughed some more, and there was blood flowing from his nose. Which was _bad_. Something was still _wrong_.

"You broke my nose!" he gasped, and Lorne fell on him. David tried to jam his elbow in Lorne's face, so the marine punched him once in the gut and then again in the face.

Thank god David had finally shut up. Evan smiled and tugged at his collar again. Fucking _hot_ out here. He ripped at his jacket for a few seconds before he remembered it was a zipper. He was having a hard time concentrating, but soon the jacket came off, and David was trapped between his knees, trying to roll to his side, dazed and gasping. Lorne pinned his shoulders to the dirt and dove in for another kiss. Bloody. Was that how David liked it? He bit down as hard as he could on the scientist's lower lip, and David screamed, writhing up against him. It felt _unbelievable_. Evan ground down with his hips and dragged his bloody mouth down to taste David's throat.

"Mueller," Parrish panted above him. "Mueller! Chernowski!" He was using his hands again, pushing at Evan's face, trying to get him to move away.

"Shut _up_!" Lorne snarled, knocking his hands aside and pulling at the scientist's jacket and shirt, pushing them up over his soft belly. "Yeah," he grunted, shoving one of his hands up under David's shirt, feeling the hot skin leap.

"Stop! Jesus, Chernowski! Fucking help! Get over he—"

Lorne punched him in his stomach again, silencing his screams with coughing. David swung at the side of his head, but he shrugged it off. Then the scientist attacked him with his fingers, clawing at his face with gloved hands, latex catching harmlessly against his skin. Evan pinned David's hands above his head and sprawled on top of him, more excited than he could bear. "You like it like this," he gloated, squeezing David's chin with one hand.

David flailed his legs, and Lorne rolled him over to immobilize him. With David trapped under him, coughing face down in the dirt, he could finally use his hands. Lorne fumbled with his fly; the zipper was easy, but the button was a pain in the _ass, son of a bitch_, and he ended up tearing the polyester-blend a little before it finally came undone. David was moaning under him, trying to push himself up. Lorne snarled and shoved his head back down, leaning on him while he reached around and fought with the taller man's zipper and _goddamned_ button.

And that's when the lights went out.

  
~

  
"Damn it, what the Hell!" Mueller shouted between gasps, dropping his rifle on the ground next to Major Lorne's body.

"Get him off me," Parrish begged from underneath. Chernowski leapt to his aid, rolling Lorne off the botanist. Why the hell was there blood all over Lorne's face?

Parrish rolled over and there was a lot more blood on _him_. "What the hell happened?" Mueller demanded again, catching his breath. He'd just struck a _superior officer_. He was so _screwed_. But the way the scientist had been screaming….

"You alright? You wanna stand up?" Chernowski was asking. Parrish accepted his hand and let the marine pull him to his feet. Christ, he looked a mess.

"Did you kill him?" Parrish asked, glancing down at Lorne.

"No. But what the hell—"

Parrish coughed and held his stomach. His eye was swelling up, too. "We need to get back to Atlantis. Major Lorne may have been exposed to an… uh… neurotoxin. Something that caused a reaction. He needs medical treatment and analysis."

Chernowski looked up from Lorne, alarmed, but Mueller got himself back under control, cooled down, and nodded. New orders: extract the casualties. "Schmittie!" Mueller shouted, but the biologist was only a few yards away, his eyes widening as he approached the scene. "We're canceling and getting back to Atlantis. Here, take Parrish's gear." He scooped up the backpack and tossed it to him.

Schmitz caught it, muttered something about "fucking plants," and strapped it backward on his chest.

Chernowski had Lorne up in a fireman's carry already. Parrish still looked like a wreck. Neurotoxins. Right. Not his problem; he just had to get them back to Atlantis. Mueller picked up the first-aid kit and Lorne's jacket, and lead the major's team back to the Gate.

  
~

  


> "Come in, Lieutenant," Dr. Weir called, looking up from her laptop screen. Lorne stepped into the office, nodding to Weir and Colonel Sheppard. "Please, have a seat."
> 
> Lorne pulled off his beret and sat in the first empty chair. "Thank you, Ma'am. Colonel."
> 
> "Lieutenant," she began with a smile, "I asked you here because we've decided to resume exploring the Pegasus Galaxy and we need good men to send off-world."
> 
> Lorne's stomach dropped and his skin crawled. That was good, great, off-world missions, getting everything back to normal…except 'normal' had attracted the Wraith two months ago. Going back out there could draw more attacks on the city, and they were hardly in a position to fend off another assault….
> 
> "We'd like to invite you to join the Gate Team program," she continued. "Colonel Sheppard and I've reviewed your file, and we agree; your exemplary performance during the Wraith invasion makes you one of the most qualified officers in the city." Weir raised her eyebrows when he remained silent. "Thoughts, Lieutenant?"
> 
> Evan cleared his throat nervously. "Ah, Ma'am, are you sure that's…the best course of action? Sending out more missions? Shouldn't we be focusing on fortifying Atlantis against another attack?"
> 
> Sheppard leaned forward, sarcasm conveying more disapproval than his frown when he answered, "We're already working on security, Lieutenant. It hasn't dropped off the priority list."
> 
> Shit, that was out of bounds. "Of course, Sir. I wasn't saying you had—"
> 
> "And in case you've forgotten," he cut him off sharply, "this is still a civilian-run scientific expedition. It's about time we actually performed that mission." A wry smile slipped past the colonel's scowl. "Before they cut our funding."
> 
> "Yes, Sir," Evan agreed, dutifully turning his attention back to Dr. Weir.
> 
> "Colonel Sheppard will take his team back out to make contact with our neighbors and try to find a working ZPM. I'm proposing to form a second team, one for strictly scientific inquiry. The colonel has recommended _you _to lead that team."
> 
> Lorne's heart rate jumped and he fought back a smile. A command. Not just off-world, but a fucking command! "That would be…. I'd be honored, ma'am," he said earnestly, humbled. Out of dozens of marines in Atlantis, he'd been chosen for a command. It felt like winning the lottery.
> 
> "Of course, you'll need a promotion. How does 'Major Lorne' sound?" Sheppard asked, a smile cracking his formal demeanor.
> 
> Evan couldn't hold back his own smile any longer. "It sounds great! Sir," he barely remembered to add.
> 
> Sheppard stood up, followed by Weir. Lorne jumped up, too. "Then congratulations, Major," the colonel shook his hand. "Good to have you on the team. We'll let you know more details as we work them out."
> 
> "Thank you, Sir. Thank you, Ma'am," Lorne beamed, turning to shake Weir's hand.
> 
> "Congratulations," she murmured, and sat back down.
> 
> Lorne saluted them both and stepped smartly out of the office, a bounce in his step. Major Lorne. A _command_. He let the feeling of success sink in, savoring it.

  
~

  
Weir was waiting with Dr. Beckett and a security unit when Mueller led his team through the iris. Beckett's masked- and gloved quarantine team leapt forward, pulling the major off Chernowski's shoulders and onto a gurney.

"What happened," Dr. Weir asked him, somehow conveying concern and urgency simultaneously.

Mueller did his duty as ranking lieutenant, stepping up with the most perfect salute he could muster. "We're not entirely sure, Ma'am. Major Lorne attacked Dr. Parrish and I was forced to incapacitate him."

"Are you all right, Doctor?" Weir asked, looking the tall scientist up and down.

Parrish pulled a square of gauze away from his lips and spat a bit of blood into his hand. "I guess. I could be worse," he shrugged, then cleared his throat. "Major Lorne was exposed to an unknown pollen before he," his eyes flickered toward Mueller for an instant, "attacked. It's possible it contained a toxin of some kind." He dabbed at his lip again.

Mueller read the dread of another city-wide outbreak on Weir's overly-expressive face before she covered it. "We've prepared the quarantine measures you recommended. You still think quarantine is necessary?"

Parrish turned his head and watched the doctors wheel the major out of the room. "I think…I think Dr. Beckett should assess the situation. Ma'am."

"All right. Sergeant Bates, please escort Dr. Parrish and the others to med lab and quarantine. Gentlemen, your weapons?"

Mueller nodded to Chernowski and handed over his rifle, sidearm, and field knife to his fellow marines. If any of them wanted to offer him a sympathetic look, he didn't meet their eyes long enough to see it. The last thing he needed was someone asking him questions.

  
~

  
"Right, what can you tell me about this pollen, Doctor?"

Parrish slowed as Dr. Beckett fell into step beside him. "I've got a sample here." He pulled the baggie from his pocket and handed it over.

"Good man," Beckett smiled. "We'll know exactly what we're dealing with soon enough. How about Major Lorne's symptoms? Can you give me any details? How the reaction presented itself?"

Parrish gulped. "He…uh…first he complained of heat. His temperature was slightly elevated and his pupils were dilated."

"Right." Beckett waited for more.

Parrish looked around at the security escort and lowered his voice. "He became aggressive."

"Aggression. Yeah, I can see he did," the physician agreed. "Anything else?"

"Dr. Beckett, do you think–" Parrish lost a step and started over slowly. "Dr. Beckett, there are some details that…might be better left _out_ of the mission report."

Beckett squinted at him impatiently, "Time may be of the essence, Dr. Parrish. _Now_, if you please?"

Parrish sighed. "Major Lorne was…aroused during the assault," he admitted.

Beckett nodded his head, "Aggression, arousal. What else?"

Parrish didn't know what to say. "Well that's…it."

"That's it?" Beckett squinted at him again. "You're sure?"

Parrish was thrown off by Beckett's blasé reaction. "Yes. That's everything. But…that last part might be embarrassing for the team," he quickly added, "so…if you could leave that part out of your report, I'd—_we'd_—greatly appreciate it."

The doctor cocked his head at him and sighed loudly, "All right. Depending on the nature of this reaction and any contagions you may have been exposed to…I might make a recommendation to Dr. Weir about what to put in an official report. But you know, doctor, if that's all it takes to make you blush, you haven't been through the Gate enough. You wouldn't _believe_ half the conditions Colonel Sheppard's team has contracted." Parrish stared after him as the chief medical officer laughed and hurried ahead to the med lab.

  
~

  
He tried to be rational about it. _Of course_ Dr. Beckett's expertise was needed to treat Major Lorne's mysterious and potentially-life-threatening condition. And the other doctors were needed to run the tests, and maintain sterility, and offer suggestions, and observe for educational purposes…. But that left Parrish in the hands of one lone nurse. _He_ was the one with the broken nose, damn it! And all right, it wasn't technically broken, but they hadn't known that until _after_ the x-ray. Regardless, _he_ was the one who'd been used as a punching bag. He'd assumed that entitled him to a little extra attention. Some hand-holding, maybe. But no, the top minds in the infirmary were needed to diagnose his attacker. For the common good, he reminded himself again. And he didn't want Lorne to suffer any _permanent _injuries for something that wasn't his fault. He was just…pissed off. And shaken. And hurting. And humiliated.

He stuck out his lip so Nurse Cooper could spray it with cortisone, cauterize the inside, and put five stitches and two butterfly bandages on the outside. He held out his hand, making sure it didn't shake while she splinted his broken ring-finger, and sighed with relief when she handed him an ice-pack for his swollen eye. And he swallowed the antibiotics and painkillers she gave him and followed her down the hall to the quarantine cell, all without one complaint. _Spoken aloud_.

Parrish stepped into the room, thanked the nurse, and listened to the door lock behind him. He turned to face the small white room—four beds, two chairs, three teammates. The chairs were taken by the marines.

"Hey, Doc," Chernowski greeted him with a sympathetic grimace. "How you doin'?"

He sat on an empty bed. "I'll be fine in a few weeks. Worst part's my broken finger. Wanna see?" He gamely raised his right hand and folded down all but the middle and ring fingers. "They're taped together, so it's not quite the right effect…but you know what I mean," he smirked.

Chernowski laughed, "Good to see you, too, Doc."

"What about the major?" Mueller muttered, chin down on his chest.

"I don't know. They're still doing tests," he shrugged. Mueller flicked some dirt out from under a nail. Parrish bounced his heel on the floor. "Lieutenant…thanks."

"Don't mention it," Mueller muttered and shifted in his chair.

They sat in silence for the next 30 minutes—well, silence once he'd convinced Schmitz to drop McKay's elitist prime/not-prime game. Chernowski actually gave him a thumbs up when Schmitz finally shut up. David stretched out on the bed and wished he had something else to do besides lie there feeling achy and embarrassed. And watch Schmitz rub at the back of his left hand.

There was a knock on the door, and it opened on Colonel Sheppard in a surgical mask. "Hey, how's my favorite team doing?" The marines hopped to their feet, and Sheppard threw his hands up. "No, sorry, at ease. Relax, guys."

Schmitz pointed out the obvious, "Sir, you shouldn't be in here."

"Yeah, probably," he shrugged. "But Elizabeth said you guys were in quarantine, and I wanted to come and congratulate you."

"Congratulate us, on what?"

"On…getting _in_! My team's been in here four times already. Come on! It's like a club." Nobody smiled. "Huh, tough crowd. Well, hey. Just saying, I know how it gets in here. Every time I've been in here, it's driven me crazy. I mean, no books, no PlayStation, _nothing_. Just a lot of blame, and arguing with people who think they're smarter than me." That last part was muttered under his breath.

"And," Sheppard continued, brightly, "I always swear I'm gonna get some games in here, you know, for the next time. And I always forget. But since _you're_ in here now, I figured you could use a little entertainment. So, here ya go," and he pulled his hands out from behind his back, revealing a short stack of books.

"Thank God," Schmitz breathed, standing up. "_Thank you_, Colonel." He shifted on his feet, staring at the books.

"Sorry 'bout the selection. And some of the puzzles've already been used."

"Sir, any word on Major Lorne's condition?" Mueller asked.

The colonel shook his head, "I'm sorry, there's no word yet." Sheppard set the books on the floor and knocked on the glass door. "Hey, take it easy. Try to think of this as a vacation." He waved as the marine on guard opened the door to let him out.

Mueller and Chernowski saluted and Schmitz managed to wait until the door locked before pouncing on the stack.

"Deck of cards, _The Old Man and the Sea_, the book of the movie _Jumangi_—who brings a book of a movie!—some crossword puzzles…_used_, yeah, no kidding—"

"Cards!" Chernowski called, clapping his hands loudly. Schmitz tossed them without looking up from the small pile of distractions. David watched Mueller drag his chair over, and the two marines put their heads together, deciding on a game.

"Shakespeare, Frankenstein, Nora Roberts—heh, nice, where the hell'd he get these things? Oh God, yes!" Schmitz started flipping through the pages of a Su Doku book. "Please please please, _yes_! This is mine!" he announced triumphantly.

"Can I have the crossword puzzles?" David reluctantly asked. If the marines weren't going to make it a group card game, he'd have to find his own fun. Schmitz tossed the booklet onto David's bed and got comfortable on the floor, ignoring the last few books. "How about a pencil?"

"Pencil," Schmitz repeated, looking around obligingly. Then he snorted. "Apparently, we're back in kindergarten." He held up three thick crayons.

"No sharp objects for the crazies," David said. It was kind of funny, and kind of…not. He glanced at the marines; Chernowski hadn't noticed, but Mueller caught his eye. He wasn't laughing, either. "Give me the purple."

Schmitz rolled it across the floor and started dourly tapping his Su Doku book with the red one. "No pencils. Not even a _pen_. How am I supposed to do this with a crayon? This is inhumane. What's the matter with the Colonel—how hard can it be to find a pen in this city…"

Schmitz kept complaining for another five minutes. But at least he wasn't rubbing his hand.

  
~

  


> Sheppard tossed some folders onto the table and took his seat next to Dr. Weir. "We've got some good news and some regular news. Which would you like first?"
> 
> Lorne shrugged, "Regular."
> 
> "Okay, then. We've got your team's roster for you. Elizabeth?"
> 
> Dr. Weir pulled the folders toward her and flipped the first one open. "Dr. Carter and I have agreed on a biology focus for the first set of missions. We've got two scientists arriving on the Daedalus next week, pre-selected for field work. SGC sent their bios in the latest data burst transmission. First, there's Dr. Angela Martinez. Dr. Martinez has two PhD's in macro-biology and ecosystems, and field experience in Cuba and Australia. She's coming from a tenured position at Holy Cross University in Texas—an excellent biology program there. Major?"
> 
> She spun the folder toward him and Lorne leaned forward to check out the file. Vital statistics, credentials, etc. The photo was the only thing he noticed. "Wow," he breathed. Big brown eyes, high cheekbones, thick lips…he glanced up at Colonel Sheppard who smirked and nodded. "She sounds highly qualified," Lorne guessed, tearing his eyes from the picture.
> 
> Dr. Weir agreed and opened another folder. "Second is Dr. David Parrish, with a PhD in botany from Stanford University and almost a decade of field work around the globe. Most recently he's been working on a grant from the Gates Foundation, doing research in Guatemala and Chile."
> 
> Lorne gave the file the requisite 10-second glance and nodded. "He'll be fine," he pronounced, as though he had a say. "So, a botanist and biologist?"
> 
> "Yeah, we're all gonna be calling you guys the B-Team by next week," Sheppard drawled.
> 
> "Oh, come on," Lorne laughed.
> 
> Weir frowned her disapproval and got the meeting back on topic. "Martinez and Parrish have already been briefed on the Pegasus Galaxy, and they have an idea of what to expect off-world. Your missions will consist of studying and gathering samples of alien flora and fauna to bring back to Atlantis. We've got an entire biology department coming in and we'll have to keep them busy. You'll be sent to worlds we've already explored, or that we know are uninhabited, to cut down on the risks to the scientists."
> 
> "It's a baby-sitting job," Sheppard jumped in, "but I don't have to tell you that it's dangerous out there. So watch your back, watch their backs, get the job done, and bring everybody home safe."
> 
> "Absolutely, Sir," Lorne nodded, pulling his thoughts away from the hot biologist to refocus on the responsibilities of leading a team through unknown territory.
> 
> "Now for some _good _news," the colonel continued. Lorne's ears perked up. "It's gonna be a team of four—two scientists, two marines. And you—you get to pick your wing man. Any marine on base, your choice."
> 
> Lorne's mind raced, picturing the full roster in his head. But one name jumped out, the name that counted. "Frank Mueller," he said firmly.

  
~

  
Quarantine only lasted four hours. Beckett came in and briefed them on Major Lorne's condition: still unconscious, but the toxin levels in his blood were rapidly decreasing. They expected him to be fully recovered in a few more hours, but planned to keep him for observation for another 24, just to be sure he was back to normal. As for the rest of the team, their blood work had come back clear—no exposure to the toxin, no contagions to worry about. They were free to go, and Beckett recommended they go to the mess hall for some dinner before it was cleared away.

When David turned left in the hallway instead of right, Chernowski said, "Not coming to the mess?"

It was a nice gesture, but David didn't think he could handle much more from the day. "No, I uh…I'm gonna get my prescriptions. And go to bed, I guess. Headache…." He gestured to his swollen face, and Chernowski looked concerned.

"You sure? You need any company or something?"

Embarrassed, David tried to laugh it off. "No way. Quarantine was enough company, thanks. I've just…had a rough day. I need a break."

Chernowski backed off. "Yeah. Okay, I'll see you tomorrow, then."

"Yeah. Thanks," and David hurried off to the infirmary.

It had sounded like a good plan, getting his prescriptions, _taking _said prescriptions, and going to sleep. No better way to not-face the day. But when he entered the med lab he remembered Lorne, and he couldn't help peeking behind the privacy curtain to see the major…unconscious in a hospital gown, restraints on his arms and legs. Just in case? In case he went crazy again and stalked David through the halls of Atlantis?

Disturbed, the botanist let the curtain drop.

Beckett saw him from his open office door and came out with two pill bottles. "Dr. Beckett," he began, not sure what he wanted to say. About Lorne being restrained, wanting reassurance, nightmares, humiliation. He didn't know where to begin.

The doctor didn't wait for him to try. "Dr. Parrish. I've diagnosed Major Lorne's condition as a violent reaction to a neurotoxin—as you yourself described it, excellent job—through topical exposure. The condition is temporary, but extremely dangerous to the patient as well as those around him. Now, the exact details _will_ be discussed with Dr. Weir…but if she's amenable, there should be no need to include the rest in the field report."

David let out the breath he'd been holding. "Thank you, Doctor."

"It's nothing at all. I'll have a private conversation with Elizabeth, and that'll be the end of it. I _would _recommend visiting with Dr. Heightmeyer, though."

"I'll…I think I'll do that," David agreed. He was surprised to realize he wasn't just willing—he was _relieved_ by the suggestion.

Beckett smiled at him and handed over the pills. "Take the antibiotics every eight hours with water, and the aspirin as needed, no more than one at a time. And come back next week so I can look at those stitches."

David self-consciously touched the bandages on his lip. "Will do. Thank you again, Dr. Beckett. Really."

Back in his quarters, David finally looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. His left eye was a phenomenally-dark red all around, with some purple just on the underside, and the bottom half of his nose was red and swollen. Lorne's work. He swallowed an aspirin and let the water run cold in the sink while he stripped and changed into a fresh pair of boxers. Then he soaked a washcloth to make a cool compress and took it back to the bunk.

There were flora samples in his gear, he suddenly remembered. He should have handed them over to the botany team as soon as he got out of quarantine, he thought, sinking guiltily onto the bed. He could still put in a call to Yushida or Rand, ask for a favor…fuck it. He'd had a _bad day_, and he was allowed to let the ball drop for once. Just for a few more hours, at least. David laid down, slapped the compress over his eye, and called it a day.

  
~

  
"Sloppy Joe and Mystery Mash almost make up for the hours in quarantine," Chernowski announced, heaping his plate high with the browned meat and tan vegetables. David wasn't around to laugh with him. Beside him, Schmitz didn't bother poking at the food this time. Chernowski guessed the biologist must be pretty worn down as he watched him load a plate.

"Should be prime rib, after the day we've had," Mueller grunted. "Or at least mashed _potatoes_. This stuff looks like crap." He bent his head to sniff at the serving spoon.

"What do you think it is?" Chernowski asked his teammates.

"I don't know. I'm not Parrish," Schmitz snapped, turning away to follow Mueller to a table.

The young marine heard the comment—so did a dozen other people in the mess. Chernowski finally noticed the stares they were getting. Apparently everybody had heard about the mission. Nothing for it, he thought, and forced himself to smile. By the time Chernowski reached their table, the stares had turned into hushed conversations around them.

Mueller took a few fast bites of the vegetables and looked up, catching Chernowski's eye. "Don't worry about them. Eat something."

Chernowski tried to shake off the feeling of being watched and tasted the meat. Not bad; better than most of the stuff he'd eaten for the past four months. On the next Daedalus delivery, they'd better bring in a qualified chef. The Athosians had obviously never cooked with garlic or vinegar before, and almost everything ended up bland and flavorless despite the fully-stocked pantry. He'd _seen_ the spices unloaded from the Daedalus—he knew what they had to work with back there. It was like the universe's own practical joke at his expense, getting revenge for all the pranks he'd pulled on Schmitz. What he wouldn't give to have something spicy. Or pickled. God, _pickles_ would be awesome.

"Hey, Mueller, Chernowski."

Chernowski looked up and greeted Lieutenant Dunnigan. Mueller nodded, but kept eating.

"How're you guys doing? I heard you were in quarantine."

"Yeah, just got out. Good times. Kind of a nice _vacation_, really. Right, Mueller?"

"Major Lorne's still in the infirmary?" Dunnigan's two friends came over, looking curious and concerned.

"Hey. Yeah, the doc said he'll be fine, they're just keeping him as a formality."

"What happened? I heard he went crazy and went all Chuck Norris on one of your scientists."

Chernowski nudged Mueller with his foot. The marine glanced up and set his fork aside, leaning back in his chair, arms crossed, evidently content to let Chernowski keep handling the conversation. The young lieutenant muttered, "Thanks." Asshole. He smiled at the gathered soldiers and tried to laugh it off. "Let's just say the major found out he has a new allergy on M3X-474."

"What'd he do, eat some magic mushrooms?"

They laughed, and Chernowski nodded, going with it. "Pretty much. Probably got sick of field rations and decided to try a few berries for a change."

Sergeant Jensen came out of nowhere, throwing himself in front of Dunnigan's group. "Hey, wow, they let you out?" he exclaimed. "Are they sure you're okay? I mean, I'm _glad _you're okay. But they ran all the tests, right?"

It was getting crowded, and nothing drew a crowd like a crowd. Chernowski realized he felt as tired as Schmitz. "Yeah, Beckett ran all the tests. I promise we didn't bring back the plague or anything. It was a false alarm."

"Can we visit Major Lorne?" Dunnigan asked.

"This is the third quarantine in a month," Private Lynch complained from behind Dunnigan's shoulder. "At this rate, we're all gonna get some alien super-virus and be dead before Christmas."

Chernowski frowned at the top of her head and tried to lighten the mood. "You putting your money where your mouth is, Lynch? Cause my money's on Halloween." Somebody called for a new betting pool, there were interested shouts from some marines on the far side of the room, and Schmitz suddenly stood up.

Mueller and Chernowski looked at him, and he excused himself coldly, "I have to check in with my lab. And get a little air. Excuse me," and he glared at the group of soldiers until they stepped aside to let him pass. Chernowski craned his head around the group to see if Schmitz dumped his full tray, but the biologist took it with him out of the mess hall.

Mueller finally cleared his throat. "You guys, you know we can't talk about it until after the debrief. Thanks for your concern—I'll tell the major you said hi. But you're gonna have to hold the questions for a couple days, okay?"

There was general contrition and sympathy, and in only a few seconds their half of the mess was empty. Chernowski relaxed a little and jabbed his fork in the vegetables. "Thanks for doing that."

Mueller shoveled more food into his mouth and mumbled, "You talk too much."

"Hey!" Chernowski protested. "It's not like you helped or anything. Why didn't you say something? They're _your_ friends." Mueller didn't answer. Chernowski spun his fork, watching it gather strands of stringy vegetable. After a minute he figured out what was really bothering him. "Schmittie was going at his hand again."

"I saw it," Mueller confirmed, his face blank.

Chernowski's lip curled up in a sneer. "You saw it," he echoed. "Look, I don't like him either, but you should show the guy a little sympathy."

Mueller stared him down. "When he's around, I'll be nice to him."

Chernowski huffed, realized he'd huffed, realized Mueller had a flawless argument, and ate some vegetables to keep his mouth shut. After a little bit he noticed how fast Mueller was eating; he'd almost cleaned his plate in under four minutes. Was he even tasting any of it? Because, seriously, it was pretty good today.

His wandering mind surprised him with a flashback to the afternoon, David's scream cut off too quick, Mueller unshouldering his rifle and taking off through the trees, the first rush of adrenaline. His skin prickled, he took a deep breath, and Mueller said, "Don't," before he'd realized he was going to speak.

"Hey," he said anyway, "about what happened…." Mueller gulped his water and stuffed the last lump of meat into his mouth. "It kind of looked—"

"I'm going to bed," Mueller cut him off, standing and picking up his empty tray. Still chewing.

Chernowski started to get up, angry.

"Drop it," Mueller ordered and left the mess hall.

The soldier sank back into the chair and stared at his beige food for a few minutes before throwing his napkin down and giving up. He slammed the door when he left.

  
~

  


> "Major, just a moment!"
> 
> Lorne slowed and turned to see Dr. Weir hurrying toward him. "Yes, Ma'am?"
> 
> "I'm glad I ran into you, Major. I'm afraid there was some bad news in this morning's data burst."
> 
> Lorne stopped breathing. They were canceling the mission _already_? The scientists were supposed to arrive tomorrow—his team hadn't even gone off world yet. The brass wouldn't cancel his command without giving him a chance to prove himself, would they?
> 
> "Dr. Martinez is pregnant and had to back out of the expedition. They didn't correct it in last week's transmission. Dr. Carter apologizes for the oversight." Weir sighed, clearly upset by the mix-up. "We're going to have to assign you another biologist from the department. I'm sorry about the late change. I'll have Dr. McKay start reviewing the bios for the new arrivals and get you a name as soon as possible."
> 
> Lorne breathed again and smiled. "You had me scared for a minute, Ma'am. As long as the mission is still on, I don't mind the change, I promise you."
> 
> She complained for another minute about the problems of bureaucracy compounded by Top Secret classifications and assured him that there were many qualified candidates available to replace Dr. Martinez. Lorne just nodded to placate her, until she'd finished her rant and headed back to her office.
> 
> He honestly didn't care about the mix-up. As long as he got out into the field with a team of his own, it didn't matter what red tape he had to jump through. Although… "Too bad, Angela," he sighed, "I'll miss you." He continued on toward the jumper bay to help unload the deliveries from the mainland.

  
~

  
"Fucking marines, all of them. Fuck them," Schmitz muttered, sulking down the long hallway to the transporter. A pair of soldiers on rounds came out of a connecting corridor and nodded to him, and the scientist was so nervous they'd overheard his cursing that he stiffened up, arms shaking, and spilled his glass of water all over the tray. "Damn it!" he swore, stopping in place and glaring at the soggy mess that was his dinner. Behind him, he heard the marines laugh. Schmitz closed his eyes and seethed, fighting the urge to turn around and scream that it wasn't funny. _He _wasn't funny!

Once the first flush of anger passed, Schmitz left the tray on the floor and kept walking. Let someone else clean up the mess; he wasn't willing to go back to the cafeteria and face the crowd of Mueller and Chernowski's buddies. Jesus, not one word to him. Not one single, goddamned word. Not even a "Hey, Schmittie."

And that was one of the things that _really_ got him mad. Fucking _Schmittie_. At the university they'd called him Professor Schmitz, or Doctor Schmitz, back when he was dealing with people whose IQs were higher than their push-up counts. And now he was working with jarheads who knotted his shoelaces, swiped the memory card out of his camera, put sand in his coffee, pointed out animals that weren't even _there_—_all the_ _fucking_ _time_—and had changed his name.

The nickname had spread further than his Gate Team; it was how all the marines in the city knew him, and some of his coworkers in the biology lab called him Schmittie without thinking. _Dr. McKay _had even used the nickname once in a mission briefing. His reputation in this galaxy was in a downward spiral, and there wasn't a thing Schmitz could do to stop it.

It was Chernowski's fault. The younger marine was the one who'd started the nickname; always trying to be the funny guy, the clown. He'd kept it up despite Schmitz's protests, and soon Mueller was using it, and even Major Lorne. His _team leader_ thought of him as Schmittie. It had hurt more than he'd expected, hearing Lorne laugh when he'd slipped and fallen on the mud-slick, down the mud-bank, into the mud-bog on an early mission, his team leader reaching out a hand to help him up and calling him Schmittie. Fucking marines.

At least Dr. Parrish never called him Schmittie. It was hard to resent the botanist, since he was the only member of his Gate Team who respected him enough to use his proper name.

But who was Parrish to be so popular with the marines? Why did they all like _him_ better? Parrish worked with stupid _plants_—couldn't they make fun of _him_ once in a while? Wait…no, the soldiers in the cafeteria hadn't asked about Parrish. They only cared about Lorne, poor Major Lorne who'd gone insane and beaten the hell out of some scientist. They didn't care about _any_ of the scientists, not even Parrish. Schmitz was surprised to realize that he…felt bad about that. Parrish had just had one of the worst days imaginable (second to M3V-145, of course). That should matter to somebody.

Schmitz stepped into the transporter and considered the buttons. Where would security have stashed their off-world gear? He should get his fecal samples to the lab before they started smelling up his backpack.

  
~

  
In the nightmare, hands were holding him down, holding his wrists and his ankles, and he couldn't _move_.

When he forced his eyes open to look for his team, for help, Lorne was blinded by a bright light that slowly resolved into sunlight reflecting off the shiny ceiling of the med lab. On the other side of a curtain, a woman was talking quietly. Someone coughed. A door opened and closed. "Say 'Ahhh.'" His nose itched. Lorne reached up to scratch his face—or tried to. Someone was holding him down…he shook off the groggy dream-memory and raised his head to see for himself. Straps. Restraints. He was restrained? Because he'd been violent….

And it all came back. Every god-damned second of it came back. At least he hoped that was all of it. The last thing he remembered was trying to unzip David's pants. If things had gone farther than that, well…maybe he _didn't_ want to know about it. Evan firmly told that idea to shut the hell up.

Now that the effects of the pollen—it was the pollen, right?—had worn off, he knew exactly what he'd done, but he couldn't make sense of his actions. He remembered wanting to do all of it, but—and he searched his thoughts long and hard—he didn't want to do it again. Well, that was something. Trying to rape a man—a _friend_—was bad enough without the fear of being capable of doing it again.

But he'd done something even worse. He'd failed his command, attacked a subordinate. Christ, his greatest responsibility was to keep his team safe, and he'd…_he'd _been the one to turn on them. Lorne's stomach twisted and he knew he was going to be sick. "Nurse!" he shouted. "Nurse, I need a basin!"

The curtain was jerked back immediately and the nurse propped up his shoulders so he could throw up into a bowl. She wiped his face with a damp cloth when he was done, but he still felt nauseous. And that heavy knot in his stomach was back. "Is Dr. Beckett here? I'd like to see him," he rasped.

After a few moments, Dr. Beckett pulled the curtain all the way back and stood by his bedside. "How do you feel, Major?" he asked kindly.

"Awful. How'm I doing?"

Beckett smiled, "You're actually fine. The nausea is most likely a side effect of all the histamines we've pumped into you. But as for the neurotoxin in the pollen, that's all out of your system. Your blood's clean as a whistle."

Evan frowned, sorting out the information. "What was it?"

"Oh, a combination of chemicals that didn't agree with you. They were absorbed through your skin, traveled to your brain, and over-stimulated the amigdala—that's the part of your brain that controls the most basic emotions: anger, lust."

"David…is Parrish okay? What'd I do to him? I remember hitting him." At least twice, probably more. And biting. He'd been bleeding a lot. Evan blinked a few times to clear away the images.

"Dr. Parrish will be just fine. Nothing worse than a broken finger and a few stitches. I released him yesterday evening."

"You're sure? You checked him out completely?" Nothing worse than a broken finger. God, he hoped so.

"I'm sure."

Lorne heaved a sigh and let himself relax a little. "So how soon do I get out of here?"

Beckett frowned, "Not for a while, I'm afraid. We're keeping you for a full 24 hours' observation; you're with us for another 10."

"You're kidding."

"I'm not. But, since you're calm and rational this morning, I can remove the restraints and try to make you more comfortable." Beckett set to work and in a few moments Lorne was free to stretch his arms and legs...but not to leave the bed.

"Unbelievable," the major muttered, looking around the med lab. Today was going to be its own kind of hell. Not the throwing-away-your-career-by-assaulting-a-civilian kind, but still hell. "Can I get a computer or something? I may as well do my paperwork while I'm stuck here."

"Certainly—I can have yours brought from your quarters if you'd like."

"Yeah. Yes, thank you. I've gotta write this field report as soon as possible," he worried aloud, eyes widening as he listed in his head everything he would have to write down.

"Oh, that reminds me. I discussed the matter with Dr. Parrish and Dr. Weir, and I've agreed to omit the more _personal _aspects of the incident. There's no need for the sexual assault to go on record. My own report only refers to the aggression triggered by the presence of foreign toxins in your bloodstream."

Lorne's mouth went dry. "Thank you, Doctor. I'll…keep that in mind."

Beckett patted his knee. "Let the nurse know when you're ready to eat something," and he returned to his office.

Evan looked at the fists clenched in his lap. It would be so easy; just cover up the disgrace like it had never happened. Dr. Weir already knew, but her second-chance policy was more like a tenth or eleventh. She wouldn't mention it, ever. It wouldn't get back to Earth, it wouldn't be on his record. She would pretend it hadn't happened, because Weir didn't like to punish failure. "But that's what you are," he snarled at himself. "A _failure_." Of his first command. And if there was one thing he didn't deserve right now, it was a break. He ground his teeth and waited for his laptop to arrive.

  
~

  
Mueller stopped by just before lunchtime, and Lorne was relieved for the excuse to set aside the field report. Every awkward sentence he typed made his jaw ache.

"Major, how are you?" Mueller asked stiffly.

Oh good, more awkwardness. "I'm fine now. Just killing time 'til they let me go." Mueller nodded but didn't actually seem interested. There was clearly something on his mind, and Lorne wasn't sure he wanted to hear it. He was beating himself up enough about the mission. He didn't need his senior lieutenant chewing him out for it.

"Sir, I would like to apologize."

"For what?"

"Knocking you out yesterday, Sir. I regret doing that."

"Knocking me out…." Oh, thank god. That explained the blackout—and the lump on the back of his head. Mueller had hit him over the head. He really _hadn't_ gotten any further than David's zipper…. Evan's mind shied away, back to safer ground. "No apologies needed, Mueller. I'm just glad you were there to have my back. And Parrish's." Mueller looked a little pained. "I'm fucking relieved you did what you did. Really. I don't think I can express how grateful I am knowing there's a soldier on the team I can count on to bash me in the head when I go screwy."

Mueller looked downright uncomfortable with the subject, but he didn't shift on his feet or look around the room.

"How's Parrish doing? How's the team?" Lorne asked, trying to change the subject.

"Haven't seen Parrish since quarantine last night. I think he's alright. And Chernowski's just a little keyed up, that's all."

"How 'bout Schmittie?" Evan couldn't care less, but as team leader, he had to ask.

Mueller frowned, seemed to think for a moment, and said, "Same as usual."

"Lucky him," Lorne sighed. For once, Schmitz wasn't the one in trouble or responsible for trouble. Today, that honor belonged to their team leader.

"I'm glad to see you're doing all right, Major. I'll see you at the debriefing tomorrow morning." Mueller abruptly nodded and backed away a few feet before turning his back and walking smartly out the door. Lorne watched him go, surprised. He knew Mueller was all business—he didn't talk much about personal stuff, ever—but even that seemed a little fast. It must have had something to do with the big _would-be-rapist_ sign tattooed on his forehead. He glumly pulled the laptop toward him again. At least now he could fill in some holes in the mission report.

  
~

  


> The debriefing wasn't for another half hour, but Lorne needed to think, and the conference room was as good a place as any. He sat still in the chair, using deep breathing to relax, trying to make the knot in his stomach untie. It wasn't working.
> 
> M4R-317 had been bad. Oh sure, it had turned out alright: a few more vine samples, a new species of gigantic flying reptile, Nobel Prizes and handshakes for everyone. But it could have been so _bad_.
> 
> If Lorne hadn't scouted ahead on his own, if Mueller hadn't been digging for Parrish's plants, if Schmitz hadn't gone near the nest…the whole mess wouldn't have happened. That was a lot of ifs. But they all started with the first: _Major Evan Lorne_.
> 
> He'd turned back when he heard the squawking, even before the thing with claws and scales flew back to the nest. By the time he'd reached the top of the hill, Schmitz was curled up on the ground with the thing shrieking over his head. Mueller was running and they'd both aimed their rifles and fired and fired and fired. But they hadn't been there when it started. He hadn't been where he was supposed to be. Only their third mission off-world, and he'd already gotten careless.
> 
> Evan's stomach lurched and he reminded himself to breathe deeply. He was damned lucky no one had been hurt, but luck wasn't good enough for a commander. He had to do better, do something different to make sure he didn't need luck to do his job. He knew he couldn't be everywhere at once, but a good leader should be able to… That was _it_! More eyes. If _he _couldn't be everywhere at once, then he needed somebody else to fill in the gaps. There weren't enough eyes on the team right now. He and Mueller could watch Parrish and Schmitz, but if they needed to do anything else, they left one of the scientists uncovered. Like Schmitz, today.
> 
> Lorne pulled out his laptop and added a quick addendum to his field report. If he could have just one more man, there would be enough eyes and guns to cover everyone. If Colonel Sheppard approved his recommendation, he wouldn't need luck. And nobody would get hurt. Lorne saved the changes and leaned back in his chair, relieved to have the problem fixed so easily.
> 
> So why couldn't he shake the heavy feeling in his stomach?

  
~

  
"Hey, Parrish, how's it going?" Chernowski called, knocking on the door frame.

David looked up, surprised and pleased to see him. "Hey! Come on in!"

"Back at work already?"

"Hmm. Trying, at any rate. It's impossible to type with this damn splint on." David shook the offending hand, trying to uncramp his thumb and forefinger.

"Yeah, I wouldn't know," Chernowski grinned, shoving papers aside so he could lean against the counter. "Didn't they give you a few days off?"

"'God and nature wait for no man.' Besides, I wanted to get my samples in the cooler before they started decomposing. Thanks, by the way."

"For what?"

The botanist gestured at the refrigeration units and scientists over his shoulder. "For bringing my stuff down last night. The department was already working on it when I showed up this morning."

Chernowski shook his head. "Wasn't me. Sorry. I mean, I would've, if I'd thought of it."

David frowned. "I thought it was you. Mueller, maybe?"

"No way. Mueller's not that kind of guy," the marine smiled.

"Right," David agreed, and then they both frowned and looked toward their teammate's empty table. Schmitz? No, it couldn't be.... "Anyway," Parrish closed the subject quickly.

"Yeah. I was tracking you down to see how you're doing."

Parrish considered. "Really good, actually. Beckett gave me some great meds. I can't eat bagels for a few weeks, but I'm okay," he smiled as wide as he could stretch the stitches. He felt good—worlds better than the sulky, pathetic mess he'd been yesterday. "I've even got Dr. Yushida bringing me coffee—sympathy is a beautiful thing."

"Cool. You know the debriefing's tomorrow morning?"

"Yeah, Dr. Heightmeyer told me. I've got an appointment with her tomorrow afternoon."

"Huh," Chernowski grunted. "Have fun with that."

Parrish snorted and swatted the marine's thigh when he started crumpling a disorganized heap of papers.

"I just talked to Lorne in the med lab."

His smile faded. "How is he?"

"A-okay. Pissed they're making him stay a few more hours, but he seems back to normal."

Parrish thought about what that would look like. Normal. As if Lorne hadn't punched him. Or bitten him. Or straddled him and held him down. The same old Lorne: restless, annoying, _normal_. His hands clenched as he debated whether to go talk to him, to convince himself that things were okay again.

Chernowski shifted on the papers.

Parrish blinked and leaned back in his chair, staring at his laptop screen, considering. He knew he should go—_of course_ he should; if he were really fine this shouldn't be a _problem_—but that pathetic mess from yesterday started worrying some more. Restraints, the halls of Atlantis….

He didn't notice when Chernowski left.

  
~

  


> As Teyla had promised, the second moon rose a few minutes after their arrival, and Lorne finally agreed it was bright enough to proceed, leading his team into the dark, green fields of M5R-220. As usual, Schmitz was the first to complain about the heat. Chernowski snatched away the biologist's handkerchief and told him to suck it up. Mueller didn't say anything. Lorne rubbed at his neck and thought about agreeing with Schmitz, but he shouldn't encourage his whining. Mueller always pretended he didn't hear Schmitz's complaining, and Lorne knew that was the best example to set as team leader.
> 
> After scaring a group of small rabbit-things—"Allumux" to the Athosians—and stopping to let Schmitz photograph the nest and collect some droppings—"crap" to Chernowski—they moved on to the small tree in the middle of the field.
> 
> "Oh, this is good," Parrish exclaimed, and started unpacking his equipment.
> 
> Lorne crossed his arms and fought the urge to ask what was good. Mueller never asked about the mission, and that made a lot of sense—best to just follow the orders and get the job done, no distractions. Lorne had learned a lot from watching Mueller over the past few weeks. Frank was always alert, always on point, always ready. And, like now, always unfazed by their surroundings.
> 
> Lorne rubbed his neck again, trying to dig a few fingers under his collar. Schmitz was wrong—it wasn't the heat, it was the humidity. He reached for his jacket zipper to open the collar a little, get some fresh air on his skin...but Mueller didn't seem to have a problem with the climate. Lorne sighed and refolded his arms, resolved to set a good example for his team.
> 
> Ever since M4R-317, Lorne had been second guessing his decision to add Mueller to the B-Team. Mueller was the ideal soldier—calm, capable, and dependable. The best man to have in a crisis, watching your six. But Evan wondered lately if he shouldn't have recommended Mueller to_ lead_ the team. Honestly, he wasn't sure why he'd been chosen for the job over Mueller. Frank had come to Atlantis with the original expedition; he had six months more experience in the Pegasus Galaxy than Lorne—hell, than most of the soldiers in Atlantis. He knew the city inside and out, and his service records from Earth and Atlantis were spotless. Even if he hadn't met Mueller in the middle of the Wraith invasion, his files would have singled him out as a top officer.
> 
> It was only three months ago when Lorne had been running blind through the unfamiliar halls of Atlantis, one eye out for alien vampires, another for the humans with him, and no eyes to spare for their general direction. He hadn't had time to think, to find a map, anything. His commanding officer was dead, along with the other members of his sweep; he was the one left in charge and he couldn't think what to do next._ Nobody_ was thinking; the terrified men he was leading through the city had almost given up on following him, and he got the feeling they were going in circles. Thank god he'd run across Mueller, or he and the others probably would've been found by the Wraith long before reaching the jumper bay.
> 
> The first time he'd seen Frank, the marine was dragging a badly wounded soldier down the corridor, with a rifle under his arm and shells in his teeth. He'd reacted to Lorne's shouts by dropping his man, cocking his rifle, and aiming to kill. The perfect soldier. And the only person capable of guiding Lorne's group to the ventilation ducts that led to the jumper bay. Lorne knew he owed his promotion, hell his _life,_ to Mueller. If not for Frank, he would've been Wraith-food for sure.
> 
> And he never would have gotten here, standing in an alien field at night with two moons, two scientists, and two marines. But he still had no idea why he was there. Not just the promotion—why was the_ mission_ there? The consequence of not asking questions was not getting answers, so Lorne had a lot of questions and nothing else to think about.
> 
> 15 minutes standing there, not-listening to Parrish gush about the tree, not-listening to Chernowski giving Schmitz a hard time about carrying his gear for him, not-listening to Mueller not-talking; all he had was the job and boredom. At least the lizard-bird-thing on M4R-317 had been interesting.
> 
> Lorne fought the urge to rub his neck again and scanned the horizon. "B is for beta. B is for biology. B is for botany. B is for bushes and boulders. B is for bird-things with claws and fangs. B is for bullets. B is for beret. B is for blood-sucking space-vampires. B is for buttons. B is–"
> 
> Parrish heard his muttering and looked over his shoulder. "Did you say something, Major?"
> 
> B is for_ boring_. "Oh, nothing. No. I didn't say anything." Lorne scanned the horizon again and kicked at the tall grass that had tangled around his knees. B is for setting a good example, he reminded himself. He caught his hand halfway to his sweat-soaked collar.
> 
> "Hey, Parrish," he said before he could stop himself.
> 
> "Yeah?"
> 
> "What's the point?" Stupid, he didn't need answers....
> 
> "Huh?"
> 
> Oh, fuck it. "Of this," he clarified. "What're you guys doing with all the samples we're collecting? Setting up some alien plant museum back on Earth?"
> 
> Parrish laughed and nodded, "Yeah. It was supposed to be top secret, but since you've already figured it out...it's for an intergalactic plant museum. In Toronto."
> 
> "Damn Canadians get all the cool stuff," Lorne smiled. But letting it go with a joke wasn't answering his question, and he wanted to know. Schmitz was videotaping worms a few yards away, and Chernowski and Mueller were patrolling the area, so what could it hurt to relax a little? Be curious for a moment; be human.
> 
> "Okay, but really, what are we doing out here? Why'd you decide to come to the other side of the universe and risk your life for a couple of plants?"
> 
> Parrish didn't answer immediately. The scientist ducked out from under the low branches into the moonlight. Lorne was surprised to see him looking wary. "You're serious?"
> 
> "Yeah," Lorne nodded.
> 
> Parrish looked around and finally relaxed. "Okay, uh. Think big picture. The Gates Foundation is currently funding a bunch of laboratories around the globe…I mean on Earth…Jesus, I can't get used to that. Laboratories that are researching cures for some of our worst diseases. A few months ago, I was part of the field research team that discovered a new flower growing in Chile—and that little flower is currently being tested as a source of a rare chemical compound in the lab that's studying Alzheimer's." Lorne nodded, following the story. Waiting.
> 
> "Think about it!" Parrish's natural enthusiasm crept out and he began pacing and waving his arms. "We've only identified maybe 75% of all the plant species on Earth. We're still unlocking their secrets. And all of those answers are out there in the universe—the knowledge, the cures we need. I believe that if we look hard enough, we can find the cures to Alzheimer's, AIDS, even cancer! And by getting these samples back to those labs on Earth, I'm making a difference back home." Just as suddenly, his energy dropped and he looked embarrassed. "Sorry, I can uh…get a little carried away on the subject."
> 
> Evan took a deep breath and looked at the alien environment around him. It was…an inspiring way to look at the universe; full of possibilities, cures just waiting to be found. And that was _his _mission. _His_ team. He wasn't leading the B-Team, he was leading the team that was going to _cure cancer_. "So…we're saving mankind," he said, a hint of awe in his voice.
> 
> Parrish stared at him for a moment, that cautious look again, and then laughed. "Defenders of the Human Race—that's us."
> 
> And Lorne unexpectedly felt _proud_ of the mission. "So, have we found anything yet?" he asked eagerly.
> 
> The botanist shook his head. "Not much. So far just that new genus of vine from M3Y-506. It's a good find," he quickly reassured Evan, "resistant to extreme heat and cold, way more durable than anything on Earth. If we can identify the trait that makes it so strong, and successfully hybridize it with one of the grain species on Earth, it could have amazing potential. Heartier crops could increase crop yield in the poorest areas of the world—"
> 
> "Fighting world hunger," Lorne grinned.
> 
> Parrish nodded, pleased.
> 
> "Okay, so what are you looking for in a plant when you're out here? I mean, like this tree—what makes you spend so much time on it?"
> 
> Parrish jerked his head to the side. Evan followed him a few feet around the tree as the tall scientist explained, "Well, this is actually very similar to a common tropical shrub, the seagrape—_coccoloba uvifera_—but see this leaf right here?" He pointed to a darker spot on one of the leaves at eye-level. "This sticky substance—the leaves don't have this back home. So I want to compare it to the Earth version and find out exactly how similar it is…and why the plant would adapt its leaves this way."
> 
> Evan was concentrating so hard on Parrish's explanation that he didn't notice he'd unzipped his collar and started scratching his throat.

  
~

  
"Is that clock right?" Parrish called to Yushida.

She looked up at the wall and shrugged, "Depends if you mean the minute or the hour. The hour's right, but Kavanagh broke the minute hand last week and it keeps falling down."

Shit! He'd stalled, gotten caught up in work, and now it was 4:30. Or 4-_something_. And he didn't know what time Lorne was supposed to be released.... There wasn't any time left to worry about it; if he didn't drop by he'd look like an asshole and probably make the situation worse. "Don't turn that burner off, okay? I'll be right back. Right back," he called, grabbing his jacket and hurrying out of the lab.

A few minutes later, the botanist pulled up short in the medical bay. Lorne was sitting on the same bed, the privacy curtain tied back, dressed in clean fatigues, working on a laptop, and no restraints in sight. It was..._normal_. More normal than he'd expected. Parrish tried to put yesterday out of his thoughts and just concentrate on the current situation—visiting his injured team leader.

He had to take a few more steps to get Lorne's attention; the major was intent on his computer screen, scowling. When he finally cleared his throat, Lorne glanced up and froze.

"Hey, how're you doing?" Parrish asked. Easy.

"Uh, good, good," Lorne mumbled, setting his computer aside on the bedside table.

David saw a brightly colored computer game before the screen went dark. At least the man had been held in the med lab. Lorne would've made a _horrible_ quarantine companion; he was at his most insufferable when he was bored.

"You uh, wow, that looks bad," Lorne winced, staring at Parrish's face. "I'm sorry, David. I'm...I'm really sorry."

Parrish looked around awkwardly and tried to think of what to say, selfconscious about the way his lower lip ached when he talked. "It's not so bad. I got beat up worse in high school."

Lorne ignored the peace offering. "Are you okay? I mean, Jesus. I'm so sorry. I can't believe I...."

The soldier was visibly flailing for words, obviously contrite and _normal_, and Parrish really didn't have to hear any more. "I'm fine, totally. The uh, the debriefing's tomorrow morning, in case you hadn't heard."

"Yeah, I got the memo. I've already finished the mission report. Didn't have anything better to do, stuck in here all day."

"About that. Look, I talked with Dr. Beckett about what absolutely had to go in the re—"

"I heard about that," Lorne said, scowling now. "Beckett briefed me this morning. Listen, I appreciate you trying to keep—"

"So, uh, Chernowski said he stopped by," Parrish interrupted. He really didn't want to talk about attempted rape with his _team leader_. If it was left out of the report, they could drop the subject for good. It would make working together a whole lot easier. Hell, it would make living in Atlantis a whole lot easier.

Lorne looked at him like he disapproved of the subject change, but he went with it, which was all that mattered. "Yeah. Mueller was here, too. They're not really good at the sickbed routine, though."

"All right, who's ready to get out of here?" Dr. Beckett called, striding out of his office.

"Finally," Lorne sighed, smiling at last.

Parrish felt a moment of dread. Time to make his own exit before they had to leave _together_. "Hey, I uh. I left some sap on a burner. I'd better get back to my lab," he babbled. "Glad you're doing better, Major. See you at the debriefing tomorrow. Thanks, Dr. Beckett!" He waved to both of them and backed out of the room quickly, well aware that he was wrong to do it. Not to mention obvious. But he just...he wasn't ready to have a conversation with the man. Tomorrow he'd have a new perspective, he was sure.

  
~

  
The seven of them sat at the conference table, smiling politely at each other while they waited for Lorne to arrive. Dr. Weir offered coffee, which McKay accepted, so of course Schmitz immediately echoed him. Parrish looked at Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay on the other side of the table and wondered if they knew all the details of M3X-474. But that was just him being paranoid; nobody knew. Beckett had taken care of it. Mueller and Chernowski next to him were taking this meeting seriously, but that was usual, and they didn't know either, apart from whatever they might have seen.... Anyway, Mueller wasn't a talkative guy, and Chernowski was his friend, and Schmitz couldn't have cared less. So it would stay within the team, and he wouldn't be humiliated in front of the entire city.

The major finally arrived—exactly on time, Parrish noted—and took the empty seat next to him. Dr. Weir cleared her throat, gathered her papers, and started the meeting. "Good morning, gentlemen. Major Lorne, thank you for sending us your report last night. Before we begin, are there any changes you want to make? I understood from my conversation with Dr. Beckett–"

"No changes, Ma'am," Lorne cut her off firmly.

Parrish shot Lorne a sideways glance, suddenly nervous.

Sheppard cleared his throat and began the military half of the debriefing. Parrish tuned it out, worrying about what Weir had started to say. Lorne had said yesterday that he'd gotten Beckett's message about leaving out the details...and there had been plenty of time to change his report if he'd needed to. It just didn't make sense for him to include, well, _everything_. Parrish shifted in his seat, trying not to stare too obviously at the pages in front of Dr. Weir as Lorne answered the colonel's questions about their deployment upon reaching M3X-474.

When Dr. McKay took over the scientific half of the debriefing, Parrish snapped back to the meeting. Schmitz rattled off theories about the species he'd observed and filmed, and drew comparisons to other planets' fauna. Next, Parrish took his turn, describing the few dozen samples he'd managed to bring back; how they'd finished processing the first batch that morning, and they didn't seem very spectacular—aside from the poisonous pollen—but there were another two batches to go over, and they should know about those by late tomorrow. McKay kept glancing at his watch during Schmitz's report and didn't bother covering his yawns during Parrish's, but that was normal McKay-behavior.

"There's no hurry, Dr. Parrish. Don't push yourself to get it done," Dr. Weir cautioned. "I want you to take it easy—I understand those are Dr. Beckett's orders."

"Yes, ma'am," Parrish agreed faintly. He would rather discuss his work than his injuries, but she was the one running the meeting. He waited for the next question. And waited some more. Time seemed to drag as the three chiefs looked at each other, and at the reports in front of them, and then at each other again. And that wasn't normal.

At the other end of the table, Schmitz couldn't take the silence, blurted, "I um. I broke another camera. Sorry." McKay didn't yell, Weir didn't defend him, and Sheppard didn't laugh. Parrish looked past Mueller to share a bewildered glance with Chernowski. Something bad was going on, clearly.

After another long pause, Sheppard leaned forward and drawled, "We'll requisition you a new one."

The awkward silence continued in the room, and Parrish had to look around to see who was in on it, whatever bad news was coming. Mueller, predictably, was stiff and silent; Chernowski was bouncing his leg nervously; Schmitz was rubbing his left hand. And Lorne was staring hard at the chiefs, looking…angry.

Dr. Weir finally took a deep breath and continued the debriefing. "I know this is a difficult topic for the team, but we have to review it. Major Lorne, in your report, you say you split up in a wooded area. Mueller, you and Lieutenant Chernowski proceeded ahead with Dr. Schmitz, leaving Dr. Parrish and Major Lorne behind to collect more samples."

When prompted, they both agreed, "Yes, Ma'am." "That's right, Ma'am."

"And Major Lorne, you fell on the flowers and were exposed to the pollen?" Parrish saw Lorne nod out of the corner of his eye. "Dr. Parrish, you initiated the first-aid protocol developed after the incident on M3V-145?" She instinctively glanced at Schmitz and frowned. They all turned to look at Schmitz, who looked up and seemed to suddenly realize he was rubbing the back of his hand. Schmitz turned red and jerked his left hand into his lap, leaving the right hand in view on the table.

Parrish cleared his throat to cover for him, "Uh, that's correct."

"At this point, Major Lorne, you were infected by the neurotoxins and became violent." Lorne nodded. "Were you aware of your actions when you attacked Dr. Parrish?"

"I was," he acknowledged, his face blank.

"But you were unable to control those actions?"

"That's correct, Ma'am."

Parrish saw the moment when Dr. Weir opened her mouth, hesitated, and then changed what she was about to say. "Lieutenant Mueller," she continued briskly, "when you rejoined the major and Dr. Parrish, did the major appear to pose a threat to the doctor?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Lieutenant Chernowski, you agree?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She looked back to Mueller. "And you struck Major Lorne on the head, deliberately incapacitating him? In the defense of Dr. Parrish?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Well done, Lieutenant," she nodded. Sheppard nodded as well, emphatically.

Weir kept rushing through the bizarre, abbreviated debriefing, "When you dialed the gate, Dr. Parrish, you requested emergency quarantine procedures."

"That's right," David confirmed, dragging his gaze away from Lorne's clenched fist on the table.

"That was the right decision. Even though the threat has been cleared, you took the right steps at the time to minimize the danger to Atlantis. You're to be commended."

"Thank you."

"Gentlemen, I can tell you're all a bit shaken by this mission. Having this sort of a…violent incident will certainly cause turmoil in the team dynamic. I want all of you to schedule meetings with Dr. Heightmeyer by the end of the week. This is not optional. Understood?" She fixed each of them with a stern gaze until they'd all nodded assent. Finally she stood, and Parrish's heart sped up. That was it? No shoe was going to drop? No canceling the mission, no big scene? "Thank you again, gentlemen—"

Lorne jumped to his feet. "Dr. Weir! May I have permission to speak?"

Parrish gripped the edge of the table and thought about kicking his team leader. Weir must have been thinking the same thing, because she winced and hesitated. Dr. McKay and Colonel Sheppard were looking at each other behind her back, concern on their faces.

Inevitably, she relented. "Go ahead, Major."

Lorne took a deep breath and asked, "Have the three of you considered the recommendation I made at the end of my report?"

Weir motioned for Lorne to have a seat and took her own chair again. "Colonel Sheppard, would you care to proceed?" she asked quietly.

"Certainly," Sheppard said tightly, straightening in his chair. "Major, I assume you're referring to your request to put the team's mission status on standby for an indefinite period of time?"

"I am, Sir," Lorne confirmed, stiff-lipped and determined.

What the fuck? Parrish looked to his right; the rest of his team looked back at him, just as stunned. Even Mueller looked shocked.

"Are you concerned that a series of routine missions may have dulled your team's reactions in general?"

"No, Sir."

"Then are you concerned that a similar event to M3X-474 will happen again?"

"No, Sir."

Dr. Weir interjected, "I think you should explain your position to your team, Major."

And finally, _finally_, Lorne acknowledged them. With gritted teeth, Lorne looked over at them all and spoke, half to them and half to the chiefs. "At the time of the incident, I thought it was a good idea to split up the team; there had been no sign of danger on the planet, and I felt that my men were well-trained enough to defend the scientists from a third-party threat."

David heard Chernowski shifting in his chair, but he couldn't look away from Lorne's hard eyes and clenched jaw.

"And now?" Sheppard prompted. "Has that opinion changed?"

Lorne considered for a moment. "I'm now aware of our…liabilities. By splitting up, we isolated ourselves. And if one of us," with a head jerk he indicated the marines, "were to become incapacitated or…untrustworthy, the scientists wouldn't have any protection. Therefore, I believe that Doctors Parrish and Schmitz should be trained in basic selfdefense so the team can feel more confident in their safety."

It was a hard speech to get out, Parrish could tell, but he didn't understand it. What the hell did it have to do with standby?

Colonel Sheppard helped fill in the blank. "You don't believe that training during down time would be sufficient? You insist on fulltime training?"

Lorne's eyes flashed and he leaned forward. "With all respect, Sir, you aren't addressing the situation. This wasn't a 'violent incident,' it wasn't a swift and sudden attack. I didn't suddenly try to _kill _Parrish, I tried to _rape_ him. And he lacked the basic skills to defend himself. In a prolonged engagement, he was useless—whether from a reluctance to cause harm or lack of training is irrelevant. I don't feel comfortable leading this team back into the galaxy as we are now, and I won't feel confident until we've eliminated as many liabilities as possible. I think the other members of my team will agree with me on that. And the fastest way to accomplish it is to set aside time for intensive training."

Boom.

What was that sound? That was the sound of David's life going to shit.

Jesus Christ, now it was _his own fault_ he got jumped? Beaten? Pinned to the ground and _groped_? Lorne was taking his role as backstabbing-asshole to a whole new level. After David had arranged to keep it quiet, the major had to go and announce it to the chiefs and the team…unless they already knew…. Parrish flushed and looked around, dreading their reactions, hoping to at least see some surprise.

Schmitz, yeah, Schmitz was surprised all right, gawking at Parrish and Lorne. Mueller and Chernowski had gone stone-faced, staring at the opposite wall. David wondered how they felt about Lorne breaching their precious Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy.

As for the chiefs, Sheppard looked embarrassed, McKay was fascinated by something on the floor, and Dr. Weir had her fingers steepled in front of her mouth to hide her anger, but it was there in her eyes. So. Not surprised, then. It was in the report.

"Thank you, Major Lorne," Sheppard said belatedly. Parrish noticed Lorne's fist unclench on the table, but he refused to look at the man.

The three chiefs glanced at each other uneasily until, with obvious effort, Dr. Weir pulled together some professionalism. "Gentlemen, Major Lorne makes a strong argument. Although we don't want to delay your important work, your safety is our primary concern. Do any of you have objections to setting aside time for training?"

Parrish saw Schmitz open his mouth at the end of the table…but the biologist didn't say anything and the moment passed. Nobody said a word.

"Very well. I will discuss the matter with Colonel Sheppard and Dr. McKay and make a decision later today. Thank you for your time and good morning."

They all stood, and Lorne lead the team's silent procession out the door, but he slowed at the bottom of the steps and caught David's arm as the botanist brushed past. "David. I want to apologize for springing the training thing on–"

"Excuse me, Major," David grunted and jerked his arm away, stalking off to his lab.

  
~

  


> "And then McKay sat on their sacred tree stump or whatever, and the villagers _freaked out_! Sheppard said they started throwing rocks and shit—and I mean literal _shit_—and chased them all the way back to the Gate!"
> 
> Everybody burst out laughing, and Mitchum threw a tater tot at Jensen. "You're totally making that up."
> 
> "No way, straight from the colonel's mouth, I swear!" Jensen insisted.
> 
> "That explains the smell coming from the labs yesterday," one of the new lieutenants giggled. "I thought they'd all forgotten to shower or something."
> 
> "No, that's just Zelenka's B.O.," Bates grumbled, and Lorne snorted.
> 
> "Good one, Bates," somebody called, and the sergeant smiled into his mug.
> 
> Lorne finally caught his breath again and asked Bates, "So what was last week's distress call all about? Why'd they need a rescue party?"
> 
> "One guess," Jensen cried, and the table shouted, "McKay!"
> 
> "Damn straight," Bates nodded. "He got himself kidnapped by the locals to be used as a religious sacrifice or something."
> 
> "Poor Sheppard." Lorne grabbed the sausage-shaped-thing off of Bates's plate.
> 
> "Hey! I was gonna eat that!" Private VanDyke protested, and Bates shoved him off the bench.
> 
> "Shut up and get me another," the sergeant ordered, and everybody laughed as VanDyke scrambled to his feet and hurried back to the breakfast line.
> 
> "What about you, Major?" Jensen asked, and Lorne looked up from his plate. "How do you like crawling through the mud with a couple of lab rats?"
> 
> They laughed at him, and Lorne quickly swallowed the lump of sausage he'd been chewing. "It's uh, it's not so bad. It beats paperwork, heh."
> 
> "Come on," Jensen coaxed. "It must drive you insane doing something that _stupid_."
> 
> "Well," Lorne admitted, "okay, it's kind of crazy. I've got this guy, Parrish—have you met him yet?—anyway, the other day, he claimed he's gonna save the universe by picking flowers." That got him a good chuckle. "And Schmittie! Oh man. I must've got this guy because no one in the labs could stand him. He's broken _two _digital cameras so far, and uh…let's see…he's fallen off acliff, sprained his ankle, fallen in a _river_, fallen out of a few _trees_. It's like he's never spent a day outdoors in his life." Across the table, Mitchum choked on his coffee. "He never shuts up. It's always, 'Major, I'm getting a sunburn! Major, my bag is too heavy! Major, that bird's looking at me….'"
> 
> By the time VanDyke got back, Lorne and the rest of the table could hardly speak they were laughing so hard. "What'd I miss?" VanDyke demanded, and set them all going again.

  
~

  
Parrish shifted in the metal chair and wished the Ancients had focused a little more on comfort instead of efficiency. If he went to a dentist, he expected a cold, uncomfortable chair. If he went to a shrink, he expected a leather couch. Although the dentist metaphor was appropriate, since he'd rather get his teeth pulled than sit through this. Yesterday, this appointment had seemed like a good idea; quick mental check-up, get the all-clear, life would go back to normal. But after this morning's disastrous debriefing, he was so angry he couldn't think straight.

As it turned out, that wasn't a problem. Dr. Heightmeyer liked to talk, he soon realized…and she was full of opinions about him. "I'm concerned that you're holding a lot of anger against Major Lorne."

"You could say that," Parrish muttered, knowing it didn't matter if he agreed or not.

"Do you hold him responsible for his actions on M3X-474?"

Oh, he held him responsible for his actions all right, but not for M3X-474; he wasn't an idiot. He held Lorne responsible for this morning. It was typical Lorne behavior—all friendly and dependable and respectful to your face, and then laughing about you behind your back. He couldn't wait to hear Jensen laughing about this one in the hallways. And he was sure he would—this kind of story would get around. Hell, it was already in all of their records.

Heightmeyer was still talking when he tuned back in. "Beckett's report agrees. And I'm sure the Major feels sorry for what happened. Has he apologized to you yet?"

"Sure."

"That's good. That's important. You two need to work together, so it's important not to hold grudges. You need to talk openly about your feelings, work out your problems," she explained patiently.

Great. Girlie-talk. As if the marines didn't already call him Flower Child and laugh like it was an original-fucking-thought every time he walked past. And talking about his feelings was sure to go over big with all the self-important mathematicians, astrophysicists, and rocket scientists he worked with. Whenever he was in the lab it felt like he might be the only person in this galaxy with only one PhD. Nobody really cared what he was working on, what he did in the field. McKay practically slept through most debriefings, and the biology department was more interested in Schmitz' samples and videos than Parrish's plants. In the greater scheme of things, he wasn't the first person called on to save the city every week—he got that. But trying to bond with Lorne is what had started the jokes in the first place, and the least he'd expected was some respect from his own teammates.

When Parrish snapped back to the "conversation," Dr. Heightmeyer had moved in a different direction. "…not mentioning the sexual assault in his report. You also spoke to Dr. Weir about this…and, I would assume, Major Lorne. I'm concerned that you were trying to repress an important incident that had an impact on all the members of your team."

Oh yes, because the major's goddamn high horse needed a booster seat. Parrish rolled his eyes but Dr. Heightmeyer didn't see it, her gaze fixed on the ceiling, deep in thought.

"You were put into a situation where you were powerless. Were you trying to regain a feeling of control by controlling the information after the fact? By deciding who did and didn't know what you went though?"

Parrish's teeth clacked together. She couldn't be serious. Surely, she couldn't be serious. This wasn't about _him_, this was about the son of a bitch who was a friend one moment and a complete dick as soon as you put him in a room with other soldiers. Lorne was the one with the goddamn problem, as she would figure out as soon as she sat him in this cold, hard chair.

"Dr. Weir mentioned that she's approved Major Lorne's recommendation for two weeks of intensive self-defense training. I think this is a good idea for you. You should use this opportunity to work on your confidence, feel empowered again. You'll be spending more time with your teammates; that should really help bring all of you together–"

Parrish stood up and left.

  
~

  
Mueller heard the door open behind him and caught Lorne's reflection in the mirror. "Keep going, Parrish," he instructed, "50 more."

Parrish looked up and also spotted Lorne. "Sir, yes, Sir," he panted and redoubled his efforts, kicking the gym bag harder. Mueller clapped the tall scientist on the shoulder before stepping away.

"Welcome back, Major," he saluted crisply. "I take it the negotiations were successful?"

Lorne rubbed his dust-covered hair, sending a shower of dirt onto his sleeves. "I wish, but no. Weir's trying, but they're really sticking on the tattooing point. We're picking up some food rations and heading back tomorrow. Maybe we can bribe them with sugar. Or marshmallows."

Mueller shrugged. Like he had any clue how to deal with aliens.

"How's it coming?" Lorne asked, jerking his chin at the rest of the room.

"Everything's on schedule," he reported proudly. "Should only take another week. Parrish isn't a problem—he's got some natural athleticism. Schmittie…he's getting there. Chernowski's a real good trainer. Dragging him through it by his hair, but he'll get on."

"Hmph," Lorne sighed, sizing up the scientists. "Keep pushing him. We don't wanna go out there with any weak links."

"Yes, Sir," Mueller agreed. He'd been against bringing scientists on this mission since the very first expedition left Earth. No matter how many times McKay and Zelenka saved the city, they just proved the exception. Nothing would convince Mueller it was a good idea taking scientists off-world. Better to leave them locked safely away at home and damn their grumbling. Leave the dangerous work to the professionals, and fuck you, Colonel.

Mueller cleared his throat and reminded himself to shut up.

Lorne was frowning at the room. Mueller turned and followed his gaze to where Chernowski was trying to teach Schmitz how to block an overhead blow. The young marine's calm litany of encouragement was accompanied by repeated taps to Schmitz' forehead.

"Come on Schmittie. No. No. Again. Like this, under the wrist, knuckles up. See? Again. Again. No, slow it down, Schmittie, relax. Watch one more time. Okay, now higher. Faster. Again. Better. Almost. Almost, come on."

Lorne smirked. "Is he gonna remember any of that tomorrow?"

"I'll make sure he does, Sir," Mueller grunted.

His commanding officer looked suddenly worn down. "Still, we can't do our gig without them. And we're not going until they're ready. All right, Lieutenant. Excellent work." With a final frown at Parrish and Schmitz, Lorne opened the door and stepped out.

Mueller watched Schmitz for another moment, then called without turning around, "20 more, Parrish. Hup! Hup!"

"You suck," Parrish yelled and counted down each kick aloud.

  
~

  
"What happened to two weeks?" Schmitz moaned, collapsing onto the locker room bench. Two weeks had been over four days ago, and he was still reporting to the gym every morning at "oh-eight-hundred hours" to get his ass handed to him by professional soldiers. And yes, he recognized the irony in that statement; he used to think the military was what people did who couldn't hold down a profession, but getting tossed to the mat at least 50 different ways in one afternoon had convinced him that maybe the military wasn't as easy as he'd thought.

But he _had_ a profession already. He didn't need to enlist in the Marine Corps just to do his job. He wasn't even supposed to be _on_ this team for God's sake. He'd come out here to do what he did best—lab work. Dissection. Analysis. He didn't have a single day of field-experience in his life, yet he was the one they'd shipped off-world to bring back fucking fecal samples and photographs: things he couldn't even work with on the other five days of the week.

What would be so bad about shooting an occasional deer or something?—give him something he could actually study, get inside of. The official answer involved making assumptions about sentience. But unofficially, somebody had probably seen the movie _Alien_ and didn't want them bringing anything living back to the city. Ha. Irony again: it wasn't the _animals_ that bled acid out here.

He'd only agreed to this dirty, smelly, dangerous assignment because Dr. Rodney McKay had asked him. Chosen him to follow in his footsteps, to go off-world with a Gate Team. It was an honor and a half—the only leg-up he had on his fellow scientists. Those that were brave enough would give an arm and a dissertation to go traipsing around the galaxy. And those that were timid, well, they thought Schmitz was some kind of hero, risking his life for science.

But was that mantle worth _this_? It was worth the slime and the laughing soldiers and the occasional laceration—even the scar on his hand was fading, and the searing pain was long gone. But this...training for weeks in a smelly gym, getting beat down by highly-trained professionals morning to night, being judged on his physical inadequacies, having them pointed out over and over, and with no end in sight now they were past the two week deadline.... "God, it's not worth this," he whispered, banging his head on a locker door.

"What?" Parish called from the other end of the room.

"Hey, Parrish," Schmitz said, throwing his shoes into the locker. "C'mere. I wanna ask you something."

  
~

  
They were getting better, Lorne admitted to himself as he pulled the gymnasium door shut. Even Schmitz was doing a passable job. But it still wasn't good enough. Lorne tried to shake the tension from the back of his neck—he always got tense whenever he stopped by the gym these days.

"Major Lorne, I'm glad you're still here," a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Dr. Weir coming down the hall.

"Yes, Ma'am," he acknowledged politely.

"I wanted to check in with you, find out how the training is going."

She paused, long enough to let him say, "It's going well—" and then she carried on, something clearly on her mind.

"It's been three weeks now. I'm concerned that it's taking so long. You initially requested two weeks for training. I had hoped to have your team active by now."

Lorne frowned, getting defensive. "They're improving, Ma'am, but Parrish and Schmitz aren't ready yet. Mueller and Chernowski are doing a great job—it's not their fault."

"I'm sure it isn't," she answered sternly. "I'm not interested in blame, Major. I'm more interested in getting your team back into the field. The Daedalus will arrive next week, and we have much fewer samples processed to send back this month. We're here to perform a mission, and I'd like that mission to make some progress soon."

"I understand your concern, Ma'am. We're doing the best we can—all of us—to get back into the field. But my primary responsibility has to be their safety."

Weir tossed her head, ignoring his argument. "What's worrying me is the morale of the scientists, Major. Keeping your team grounded in the city is sending the message that we don't need them here; that their jobs aren't important. And they _are_."

This was obviously a contentious issue for her. "Of course," Evan agreed, trying to soothe her irritation. "I'm taking morale very seriously. I think the team's spirit is still high. They know it'll only be a few more days. Guaranteed."

Dr. Weir opened her mouth to say something, paused, and forced a smile instead. "I'm glad to hear it, Major," she announced, and turned back the way she'd come.

Lorne waited by the door for a minute, cursing the awkward position he was in. Getting flack from his superior because his teammates weren't performing well—and not being able to fix it—was only marginally better than being at fault himself. He made sure Weir had a good lead on him before heading in the same direction to rejoin Bates's team patrolling the West Pier.

  
~

  
"Get that end, will you?"

Chernowski obliged, tearing apart the velcro strips on the other side of the mat and helping Mueller roll it across the gym floor. It had been another long day, and his shoulders were killing him, but whining about it to Mueller was just wasted breath. He hadn't felt this sore since boot camp and he wasn't even the one in training. Schmitz must really be taking it hard. Which reminded him....

Mueller scowled at him when the younger marine stopped rolling. "Hey, pick it up, Chernowski. I wanna get outta here."

"Yeah," he agreed, "me, too."

"Then pick it up and let's go."

"No, I mean I wanna get out of this room. Out of this city. This is getting ridiculous—"

"Don't even," Mueller snapped, straightening up. "Just roll the goddamn mat."

From zero to mad in no seconds flat, Chernowski stood up and squared off against his ranking officer. He tried to dial down his reaction, but in the past week he'd lost all patience with Mueller and his stubborn silences. Ignoring the problem wasn't fixing it, and might even be one of the reasons they were trapped in this gym, in the two-week training session that wouldn't die.

"Fuck you," he snapped back. "I'm serious, this is ridiculous. And I'm gonna talk about it, and for once, you're gonna listen."

Mueller crossed his arms, not giving an inch.

"You know what Lorne's doing is crazy—"

"We don't know _anything_!" Mueller growled stubbornly.

"Shut up!" Chernowski started pacing over the flat section of the mat, making sure Mueller couldn't finish the job without moving _him _first. "Basic training was a good idea, okay? I agree with that. But we've _done_ basic. We finished that eight days ago! And he comes in and says he wants them to learn this advanced stuff...what the hell! Schmittie can't _handle_ the advanced stuff; he's barely got the basics down! And Parrish says Schmittie's talking about quitting the team—"

"Figures," Mueller snorted.

"Hey! It's not his fault! Schmittie's paid his dues, all right? He's worked his butt off in here, but he's not built for the physical stuff, and that's just the way it is. I don't know how much harder we can push him before he quits, and the whole mission goes to hell."

"Schmittie spends too much time listening to what other people say," Mueller threw back at him.

"Like who? Who's telling him he has to run a seven-minute mile and disarm an enemy assailant in the dark?"

"Not Lorne. The other white coats. He's been listening to their whining and he's feeling sorry for himself."

Chernowski folded his own arms. "Parrish isn't trying to make him quit."

"Yeah, well, Parrish is the exception."

"What are you talking about?" Chernowski demanded, and took a step forward. "Right now. For once, I want you to explain what the hell you're talking about. I have _no idea_ where you're coming from, man."

Mueller ground his teeth and looked around the room, scowling. Chernowski waited. And waited. It took a full 20 seconds for his ranking lieutenant to finally respond.

"Of course you don't get it. You don't know anything about what's going on in this city," Mueller muttered, starting to pace.

Chernowski got comfortable, waiting skeptically for enlightenment.

"You weren't here when it happened—you came in on the Daedalus with Parrish and Schmitz. You missed the Wraith invasion—"

"Yeah, I've heard all about that already, thanks," Chernowski drawled.

"Did you hear about Colonel Everett?" Mueller snapped.

"He came in through the Gate just before, right? He led the reinforcements." Mueller sneered at him and that was...that was a new expression on Mueller. Chernowski blinked, surprised.

"Yeah, reinforcements. By the time he got here, we were already gone. Everyone had evacuated to the Alpha Site; soldiers, scientists...only the chiefs stayed behind, setting the self-destruct. But then Everett showed up with Major Lorne and the rest of the 12th Platoon, and he rescinded the evacuation. He brought us all back to Atlantis—and not just the soldiers, but civilians, too. Said holding the city was the top priority, and the scientists could at least carry guns and act as decoys if it came down to it. So when the Wraith teleported in, it wasn't just trained soldiers they were hunting, but panicked civilians."

Chernowski's hands went cold and the hair on his arms stood up. Decoys? That was...that was fucked up.

Mueller was staring at the wall now, his hands in fists at his sides. "We were sweeping the city, trying to locate the Wraith. My patrol got wiped out. Just me, no one to watch my back. I'm damned lucky Lorne found me. Do you know what he was doing? He was leading a half-dozen scientists to the puddlejumper bay so he could get them outta the city before the Wraith ate 'em. Just him, no backup, and the city crawling with space-vampires."

Mueller spun around, his face bright red, and snarled, "We lost a lot of men. And a lot of civilians. But that's who Colonel Everett was. The bastard's lucky he got put out of commission in the attack—he'd have been court-martialed for sure. Nobody talks about him, 'cause they'd all rather forget it happened, but the scientists…. They've figured out that they're not the priority around here, and that we'll sell them out whenever the city's in danger. That makes _us_ the enemy," Mueller slapped his chest hard.

Chernowski's skin was crawling and his mouth had gone dry. He swallowed a few times before he could speak. "I get along great with Parrish."

"Parrish can think for himself; he isn't a sheep like Schmitz. But even _he's_ heard all about it by now, and he feels it, the tension. Everybody does, even the chiefs. This city's one big powder-keg, and you're better off keeping your mouth shut or you'll set it off."

"But our team...we're doing science missions. Just science. Doesn't that prove that we're on their side?"

Mueller snorted, "It's politics, that's all it is."

"What?"

"The only reason our team goes off-world is to make that point. Why else would the chiefs have sent us out so early?—with the city still rebuilding, the shields at half-strength, Atlantis unsecured and vulnerable.... We got pushed off-world to try to smooth things over with the civilians. Just a goddamn olive branch. It doesn't matter if we accomplish anything or not."

Chernowski didn't like the sound of that. "Lorne says we're looking for cures to AIDS and stuff," he protested.

Mueller actually laughed at him, "You believe everything you're told?" Chernowski's shoulders snapped back and his chin went up. "Lorne toes the company line. He knows what's going on and he's keeping his mouth shut. Hell, the major's actually keeping 'em safer by shutting us down." Mueller shrugged. "This mission was screwed before you even got here. It's not your fault, so there's no point worrying about it."

And that was all he was going to say, the young marine could tell. Mueller stood there, patiently condescending. Waiting for Chernowski to come around and see it his way.

But he wouldn't. It made no sense—except for the parts where it explained _everything_—but he couldn't accept that. It was just Mueller standing in the sun too long. It was exaggeration, paranoia...although he remembered a few conversations cut short after somebody mentioned the invasion. Or Everett. And none of the scientists actually met his eyes when he patrolled the halls. He'd thought they didn't want to break his concentration but...you know what?

It. Didn't. Matter.

He was on a Gate Team, and he'd be damned if he was gonna let that team fall apart. He'd made it to the Pegasus Galaxy. He was a goddamn _astronaut_ out here, and he wasn't about to be grounded because of some bad blood from six months ago.

"You know what, Mueller? Fuck it. Fuck you, fuck your paranoid conspiracies, fuck your ghosts, and Colonel-fucking-Everett. We need to deal with what's happening to our _own team_, _right now_. So I need an answer about Schmitz, 'cause I don't want him quitting this team."

And that clearly wasn't what Mueller had expected him to say. The older marine looked almost impressed. "Yeah, okay," he finally nodded. "Go easy on him. They don't need to know this advanced stuff anyway. There's no point pushing him."

Chernowski nodded back, grateful, but also pissed off about everything he hadn't known. That nobody had told him, because certain people didn't talk until you bashed their heads against the walls. Fuck the mats, fuck Mueller, fuck everyone. He stepped over the roll of gym mats and headed to the locker room for a shower.

  
~

  


> Lorne wondered how long it would take for Schmitz to begin complaining about blisters. The major had seen Chernowski steal Schmitz's socks from the riverbank and pass them off to Parrish with a conspiratorial grin. They were currently buried in the bottom of Parrish's sample bag, and Lorne had a feeling they wouldn't be "found" until they'd gotten back to Atlantis. Meanwhile, every other look between the two pranksters was a smirk or a wink.
> 
> Schmitz jumped down from a small boulder and landed with a squelch in the soft grass. "Of course," he muttered, and lifted his boot out of the fresh, steaming sample.
> 
> Lorne bit back a laugh at the scientist's expense and moved ahead to where Parrish was peering through a magnifying glass at some tree bark.
> 
> "Do you mind? I need that sunlight," Parrish muttered, irritated as usual.
> 
> "Sorry," Lorne immediately took a step to the left. "What are you looking at?"
> 
> "Tree bark," Parrish answered shortly. "It's not very interesting. Why don't you go help Schmitz find whatever left his latest sample?"
> 
> Lorne stuck his hands in his pockets and shifted on the uneven terrain. "Schmitz is boring," he grinned.
> 
> Parrish ignored him. With a sigh, Lorne took the hint and walked away. Things were getting downright weird with Parrish. They'd been friends for a while—Parrish had a mean sense of humor and loved talking about his work—and then suddenly the botanist had shut down. David would hardly speak to Evan anymore, but he was still pals with Chernowski. And that rankled.
> 
> "Major, could you come look at this?" Schmitz called. He was looking at his left hand, holding it up to his face. Lorne ignored him, not in the mood to hear Schmitz complain about another bug bite. He climbed up the next steep incline and crouched down next to Mueller.
> 
> "Nice view."
> 
> Mueller just nodded, apparently dumbstruck at the expanse of forest in front of them. Lorne grinned again and looked back down the hill they'd climbed, checking up on the scientists. Chernowski had Schmitz and Parrish covered, surveying the area and studiously ignoring Schmitz's gestures for him to look at his hand. Lorne's gaze turned back to the forest. "Think we can make it down there in an hour?"
> 
> "Without distractions? Sure," Mueller agreed.
> 
> "Ha. Like that ever happens. I'll see if I can move them along a little quicker. Be right back."
> 
> When he rejoined the rest of his team, Schmitz was worriedly poking at his hand, having been rebuffed by Parrish as well. "Let's hurry it up, people," Lorne called, eager to head down the other side of the hill.
> 
> Parrish didn't spare him a glance, but Schmitz was at his side in a heartbeat. "Major, I have a problem," he announced urgently.
> 
> "What's the matter," Lorne smiled, "blisters already?" Chernowski started whistling innocently a few yards away.
> 
> "Kind of, yes," Schmitz nodded, relieved. "See, look at this."
> 
> He stuck his hand in front of the major's face, and Evan leaned back, surprised by his intensity. "Okay, what am I looking at?"
> 
> "That spot right there—that's where I got the sap on it, from those vines back a ways."
> 
> "Sure. Okay. What's the problem–"
> 
> "It's been itching. And it's getting worse," Schmitz's voice was grave.
> 
> "Poison ivy? I'm sorry, I don't have any calamine lotion on me right this second. Guess you'll have to suck it up until we're finished. Speaking of, are you finished down here? There's the whole other side of the hill I want to get to–"
> 
> "Major," Schmitz snapped, "It's discolored. Turning white. And it's starting to burn. That's not poison ivy, that's _serious_."
> 
> Annoyance flared at being scolded like that, but then he noticed that Schmitz's eyes were a little wild. The man was definitely freaking out.
> 
> "Okay. Okay, how serious? What do you need?"
> 
> Parrish came out of nowhere, skidding to a halt between them. "Let me see," he demanded, grabbing Schmitz's sleeve. The biologist held his arm out gratefully. "This looks like calcification," David muttered.
> 
> "Yes," Schmitz agreed, at the same time as Lorne asked, "How bad is that?"
> 
> "Bad," Parrish snapped. "Back by the river? Thirty minutes ago?"
> 
> "Yeah. Give me that canteen," Schmitz grabbed at Lorne's hip, snagging the water bottle strap.
> 
> Lorne felt his stomach knotting up and pulled out his radio. "Mueller, get down here, we have a situation."
> 
> "Wait, that'll just spread it around," Parrish protested, grabbing the bottle away from Schmitz.
> 
> "Damn it, I know what I'm doing," Schmitz insisted. "Oh, _God_ it stings."
> 
> "What is it?" Lorne asked Parrish.
> 
> "A chemical reaction, possibly hydrofluoric acid."
> 
> "Acid. From a plant?"
> 
> "Fucking alien plants, I _hate_ this job," Schmitz moaned. "Give me the goddamned bottle, Parrish!"
> 
> "What do we do?" Evan asked the botanist impatiently.
> 
> "If it's hydrofluoric he needs a...a calcium gel, calcium gluconate. Beckett might have some back in Atlantis. Major, he needs it _now_."
> 
> "All right, we're getting back to the gate. Mueller," his lieutenant reached them just in time, "Mueller, carry the bags."
> 
> "Hey!" Schmitz yelled, "No! I need water!"
> 
> Chernowski handed his canteen to the scientist, despite Parrish's protests.
> 
> Schmitz scowled at the bottle and then clenched his burned hand in a fist. "That's not gonna do it," he groaned, changing his mind. "I need a lot more water than we've got. The river we stopped at—"
> 
> "That's out of the way," Parrish argued. "The Gate's that way, just a few miles."
> 
> "Shut up!" Schmitz screamed, breaking into a full tantrum. "I've spent the last eight years in a lab, okay? Not crawling around in jungles or whatever the hell _you've _been doing. I think _I'm_ the one who knows the proper procedures for handling a chemical burn. Now, I need at least 15 minutes of water flow to dilute this before the nerves completely calcify."
> 
> Lorne's mouth dropped and he looked at Parrish, unsure what to do. After a brief stare-down with his fellow scientist, Parrish finally let out a breath and nodded, and Lorne threw the canteen aside, their course clear. "All right, the river. Let's go," he ordered and they started running.

  
~

  
"Four _weeks_," David grunted under his breath with each punch. "Four _fucking _weeks. Of _training_. And where is _he_."

"Parrish, turn out the lights when you're done," Mueller called.

"_Yeah_!" he answered with another blow. "Oh, flying to the _main_land. With Ford and _Shepp_ard. Not _here_ with the lia_bilities_." Once Mueller was gone he sagged against the gym bag and held on, catching his breath.

Four weeks of training and he could almost outwrestle Chernowski…if the marine only used one arm and didn't put any pressure on his double-splinted finger. But that wasn't good enough for Major Lorne. Oh hell no. He wanted Schmitz and Parrish out-boxing, out-bench-pressing, out-running, and out-wrestling their trainers. Because the alien threats he would someday encounter, during one of his _many _solitary adventures without backup in the Pegasus Galaxy, would have official U.S. Marine Corps training in boxing, wrestling, marathon-running…. "It's like he's training us to defend ourselves from marines," he panted, pushing off of the bag and wiping his forehead.

And how laughable was that—either of them, him or Schmitz, up against a fully-trained marine? The thought was ludicrous. They wouldn't stand a chance, even with _six months_ of this training crap. And there was no way Schmitz would make it that long without giving up.

David was sick to death of holding Schmitz's hand every day, listening to him whine about how hard it was, how humiliating. It drove him insane to be the one siding with the marines, reassuring him it was for their own good, just a little longer. But by now…four weeks, God…. It killed his soul to have to side with Schmitz, but the man had a point. This had gone on _way _too long. Two weeks, fine, suck it up. Three weeks? Maybe if Schmitz were really falling behind. But four? Learning moves he'd be too afraid to use against a real opponent? "Dodge at the last moment, sweep the leg, kneel on the throat, poke out the eyes, disarm your attacker." Yeah, only when his attacker was Mueller, with a free-weight for a "weapon" and a trainer's oath not to actually _hurt_ Parrish.

Schmitz was right about that much: this had gone way beyond 'a little basic training for their own good.'

But this last week, Schmitz had started talking about it like it was some kind of conspiracy—the soldiers trying to make the scientists quit. Us vs. Them. Squeezing "us" out to shut down the mission. And Parrish had laughed, because Schmitz was a fool to believe something so grand. It wasn't a citywide conspiracy, no matter what his friends in the lab told him. This was a much narrower grudge.

This was between Parrish and Lorne.

David had figured it out yesterday—this was Lorne's way of punishing him for M3X-474. Lorne blamed _him_ for Lorne's own actions, and he couldn't face Parrish about it. His team leader was keeping David out of his lab, locked in a gym instead of exploring new worlds, for the sole purpose of making David quit the team. That's why the marines were going easier on Schmitz lately. Oh yeah, he'd noticed that. Schmitz got out early, Schmitz's laps were slower, he didn't have to run the two-against-one exercise until he got it right. Just to "earn a lunch break."

Well, David didn't have to take it. He'd be damned if he would quit—give up the opportunity of a lifetime because Lorne couldn't fucking cope with having David on his team anymore? Hell no! If Lorne wasn't coping, then he should be replaced as team leader. And David would have to be the one to make that happen.

He felt a moment of nausea at the thought of doing that, sabotaging somebody's career. But at this point, they couldn't both stay on the team; it was Him vs. Me, and David planned on winning. He would start with Dr. Heightmeyer; the chiefs might not listen to Lorne's victim, but they'd have to listen to the marine's psychiatrist. He'd make her see what she hadn't when she'd met with each of them after M3X-474: Major Lorne wasn't the perfect leader everyone thought.

Parrish wiped his nose and contemplated the punching bag. Even picturing Lorne's face on the leather didn't make it worth swinging again. He was done training.

  
~

  
"Thank you for coming by at such short notice, Major," Dr. Heightmeyer greeted him at the door to her office.

Not like she'd given him much choice, with the _I'm sure we can work this complaint out—there's no need to take it to the chiefs yet_ message. "You're keeping some late office hours, Doc," Evan smiled pleasantly.

"When something is important I make time for it," she said, holding his gaze. Like that was supposed to mean something to him. He shrugged and ducked past her into the tiny office.

There weren't any diplomas or certificates on the walls, not like back home. But the chair—yeah, that was familiar in every psychiatrist's room he'd ever seen. An interrogation chair.

He sat down stiffly, keeping his shoulders back, chin up, like a good soldier. He didn't have the clout to go slouching around like Colonel Sheppard.

"Would it surprise you," Heightmeyer began, sitting in the doubtless-more-comfortable chair behind her desk, "to know that the complaint I received came from a member of your Gate Team?"

He'd figured as much. Lorne raised his eyebrows and waited for her to get on with it.

"In his own words, the complainant described your recent actions as 'persecutory. Vengeful. Maliciously keeping the team grounded.'"

Lorne snorted and muttered, "Schmitz, of course."

"What makes you think it was him?" Heightmeyer asked mildly.

"He's the one who can't keep up with training. Parrish is doing fine. Schmitz is the one who's failing."

"You haven't considered Lieutenants Mueller or Chernowski?"

Lorne ignored the probe, unwilling to justify that accusation with an answer. But…it could be. Had Mueller finally figured out that Lorne didn't know what the hell he was doing? Had he finally lost confidence in him?

"You seem to have an antagonistic attitude toward the scientists on your team, Major," she continued.

"No, it's not that," he shifted again. God _damn _the chair was uncomfortable. "It's just that…I understand soldiers. The doctors are different."

"Hmm, in what way?" Dr. Heightmeyer asked, one eyebrow arched.

She'd asked for it, and Lorne knew this meeting wasn't about pulling punches. "They're less reliable. Less consistent."

"Consistency and reliability," she repeated, not seeming to take offense. "Those are important to you?"

"Of course," he bluffed, not sure where to go with the topic. "Knowing the men under your command…it's vital to the success of a mission. A good leader knows his men. That's why the training has continued so long—to help the team understand each other." It sounded right. He wished he could unfold his hands and cross his fingers, but he kept his posture firm and confident.

"But you haven't been part of the training. Have you?"

Shit. It wasn't a question. "I was…assigned to support Sergeant Bates's squad for a few weeks. We've been clearing out the towers on the West Pier."

"And before that, you spent a week off-world on a negotiation mission with Dr. Weir and Colonel Sheppard's team?"

God, she didn't even need to look at any _notes_. "That's right."

"And most recently?" she prompted, still in the same mild (accusatory) tone.

"Mapping some Ancient structures on the mainland."

"You've accomplished quite a bit in the last month."

Her tone was congratulatory, but Lorne didn't buy it for a second. "So has my team. They've learned a lot," he insisted.

"Have they learned the basic self-defense you requested in your mission report for M3X-474?"

He hesitated. "To varying degrees…."

"You mentioned that earlier. Did you mean that Dr. Parrish is outperforming Dr. Schmitz?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll rephrase the question. Has Dr. Schmitz completed the minimum of training you recommended?"

Lorne cleared his throat. "Barely."

"But he has?"

"Yes."

"Then I will assume that Dr. Parrish has also completed his training. So why, Major Lorne, is your team still grounded? On _your _orders?"

Lorne tried to put his dozen reasonable arguments in order in his head. He had to watch out for their safety. He knew the dynamic was still off, they still weren't ready–

But Dr. Heightmeyer wasn't waiting for him. "Why have you added more advanced levels of training?"

Stung, Evan jerked his eyes away from the wall, back to her face. She knew about that? Maybe it really _was_ Mueller. "Because it's a hostile, alien galaxy out there. They need to be able to protect themselves—"

"I thought that was _your_ job, Major. To protect them."

He blinked and stammered the first thing that came to mind, "They can never be too prepared."

"Do _you_ feel unprepared when you're off-world, Major?"

Lorne's stomach flipped, twisting the ever-present knot a little tighter. "I'm not sure what you mean...."

And out it came. His file. His permanent record. She pulled it out of a drawer and laid it, closed, on her desk. Like a Bible, waiting to swear him in.

"This is your first command, isn't it?"

"Yes."

"This responsibility means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

"Yes. It does."

"And you hold yourself responsible for everything that happens to your team. You hold yourself responsible for what happened to Dr. Parrish, don't you?"

He nodded a fraction of an inch.

"Do you feel you've let your team down?"

Lorne choked up inexplicably, but the answer was obvious. "Yes."

"And you're worried now that you can't protect them?"

Maybe. A little. He didn't answer.

"It's perfectly normal to feel insecure in a new position," she reassured him, her expression unexpectedly soft, mothering. And then she opened his file. "Talk to me about your experience when you first came through the Gate. About the invasion."

Evan sighed and slumped down in the chair, tugging at the hair over his forehead.

  
~

  
The session left him wrung-out and exhausted: his neck and back muscles ached from the tension; his jaw and fists throbbed from clenching down through most of the conversation; his head pounded from having his brains dissected with a melon baller; and he wanted to sleep for a week. Basically, the way Wraith-victims described the experience of having their vitality sucked out through their chests.

But his stomach didn't have the sour, twisting ache he'd grown accustomed to. And for the first time in weeks, he actually felt…hopeful. Not because Heightmeyer had waved a magic wand and fixed everything for him—if anything, she'd made him aware of just how badly he'd fucked up this past month. He was _not_ looking forward to the apologies he would have to make to his teammates. But he _could_ look forward to finally getting off-world again, instead of dreading it.

The apologies could wait until tomorrow, after he'd slept and spoken with Sheppard about scheduling their next mission. The tough conversations would probably go over better if he brought good news to everyone.

Music echoed up the hallway that led to the science labs, and Lorne walked past it before stopping and turning back. There was one apology in particular he didn't want to make in public. If there was even a chance Schmitz was still awake and working, he'd better take it—get some things aired out in private now, so neither of them would have to go to bed angry….

Lorne shook his head at Heightmeyer's metaphor and tried to muster up some energy as he headed toward the labs.

The astrophysics and engineering labs were empty, but the Beatles music was definitely coming from the biology lab, and when Lorne walked into the room he found his teammate seated at one of the work tables.

"Parrish?"

The botanist stopped humming and looked up from his microscope, eyes widening and then narrowing in an owlish blink. "Major," he said.

Evan deflated against the doorframe, exhaling his pre-apology tension. "What're you doing here? It's almost midnight."

"This is the only time I have for my research," Parrish answered, peering into the lens again. "You know, since the rest of my time is spent in the gym."

Well, it wasn't Schmitz, but he might as well share the good news with Parrish, since he was here. The doctor looked like he could use a little cheering up. "Hey, about that. I've got good news: training's over."

"Is it?" Parrish sounded uninterested.

"Yeah. Try to contain your disappointment."

"So I guess you've had a talk with Dr. Heightmeyer."

"Y—" Lorne froze, the confirmation on his lips. Humiliation swelled under his skin and he forced it back down. "Schmitz has a big mouth," he said, trying to sound amused instead of angry. At least he knew for sure now—no way would _Mueller_ have shared that information with Parrish.

The scientist slid his microscope to the side so he could cross his arms and lean his elbows on the tall counter. "How'd it go?"

Something about Parrish was off, more off than it had been lately; his perpetual irritation with Lorne looked a lot like open hostility tonight. For the first time, Lorne considered the possibility that Schmitz's whining had found an ally in Parrish, and his jaw muscle twitched. "It was great, thanks for asking."

"So. You came here to tell me something?"

He hadn't, but judging by that look on the scientist's face, they had a lot they needed to discuss before he left. "Yeah. Training's over, and I'm requesting another off-world assignment for us first thing tomorrow."

"What?" Parrish's expression changed to one of surprise.

Evan nodded, tried to make his lips smile as he said, "We're going back out there, as soon as Sheppard approves it."

Parrish blinked some more, looking genuinely astonished. "That's it?" he said quietly. "That's all you have to say to me?"

Parrish's whole body was broadcasting 'I am serious about this shit,' so Lorne took a moment to consider the question. "I—" he started, carefully. "I want you to know that I…I still feel terrible about what happened, what I did on M3X-474. And I want to apologize again."

According to Heightmeyer, obtaining forgiveness was something Lorne needed to do in order to let his misplaced guilt go. _No one_ could predict or control the unexpected. He'd done his best on every mission, and that's all Sheppard and Weir expected of him—if they'd thought he was doing a crap job, they would've replaced him already.

The calming effect of Heightmeyer's reassurances faded as he watched Parrish's surprise slide back into a scowl. "You think I give a _crap_ about that?" he demanded. "I'm not an imbecile, in case you hadn't noticed."

"I didn't say you were an—"

"What the hell did you talk to Heightmeyer about?"

"That's none of your business," Lorne snapped without thinking, his anger rising to counter Parrish's aggression.

"Like hell it isn't. If she thinks she can just ignore my complaint, tinker with your head until you're all gung-ho about missions again, and not expect me to go to Dr. McKay and Dr. Weir next, she's—"

"What?" Lorne interrupted. "_Your_ complaint?"

"Yeah, mine. You really think Schmitz has the balls to go up against you?"

"_What_?"

"After everything you did to me, you think I'm gonna accept a few more missions instead of an apology?"

"I just apologized—"

"_Not_ about _that_!" Parrish stood up and paced a few steps closer, vibrating with anger. This was a side of the botanist he'd never seen before, and Lorne had no idea how to deal with it. "Fuck M3X-474. Okay? Everything else; you owe me for everything else."

"What the hell are you talking about? What've I done to you?"

"What did you talk with Heightmeyer about?" Parrish asked again. "'Cause it doesn't sound like you two talked about the way you've been trying to force me off the team, or the way you've been blaming me for getting jumped on your watch and making you look bad."

"Woah, what? I'm not trying to get you off the team! Where are you getting this shit?"

"It's obvious! You've made it impossible for me to do my job here—I may as well hop the next Daedalus transport back to Earth so I can get back to some _real_ fieldwork. That's what you want, isn't it?"

"No! I'm sorry about all the training this past month, okay? That's my fault, and I shouldn't've taken it out on you guys. It was nothing personal—"

"Oh, come on! You used me as your _justification_ for it. I think that's plenty fucking personal."

"That wasn't _about you_, for god's sake! That was about _me_ fucking up my one responsibility: to protect you. Both of you. _All_ of you. That was me _hiding_. And I'm _sorry_ if that ended up making your life harder—" he cut himself off and took a deep breath. Sarcasm was the last thing this conversation needed, no matter how raw this nerve was for him. He forced himself to rein in his anger and tried again. "I'm sorry," he said, managing a more sincere tone. "But it honestly wasn't about you."

His teammate didn't look convinced.

"I'm not trying to get rid of you, David. For Pete's sake…." Lorne scrubbed at his growing-out buzz cut and sighed.

In the long stretch of uncomfortable glaring that followed, another scientist walked into the lab, whistling along to _Yellow Submarine_.

Fed up with scientists for the night, Lorne snapped, "Hey, you! Out! Now!"

"Excuse me?" the man asked, turning to look at him in surprise. Recognition and disdain flashed in his eyes, and he stuck his nose up, looking down at Lorne from the lofty heights of his higher education. "I don't recognize your authority to dictate my—"

"Get the hell outta here, Winston!" Parrish snarled. "Top secret meeting; lab's closed."

Winston's head jerked around and his hands flew up. "Fine, geez. You could've just said."

Once Winston was gone, Parrish braced his hands against the back of his swivel chair and finally answered Lorne. "You weren't trying to get rid of me," he repeated, voice dripping sarcasm.

Of all the ridiculous…. "Hell no. Seriously, you're the last person I'd wanna axe. Have you _seen_ Schmittie's coordination?"

That was the wrong thing to say; he could tell by the way Parrish's expression darkened and he started waving his hands. "God, you think you're so funny, but every time—"

"Sorry," Lorne interrupted. "I'm sorry for that. I just meant, you know, you're good. You're good at what you do, and you don't piss me off—usually, and I respect your work. So I'm not trying—"

"Respect? You respect my work? You don't know the meaning of the word respect. I've heard the jokes, okay? I've heard what the marines say about me and Schmitz, how they laugh about our little off-world 'adventures.' And who's giving them their material, huh? Who?"

The flinch was instinctive, his body recoiling from the blow. He hadn't thought….

"After you beat the shit out of me, I asked you for one thing: _don't _put that part of it in the report. And what did you do? You made sure the whole fucking city knew about it! Respect means you don't go making jokes about attempted rape with your marine buddies. How hard is it to keep your mouth shut? Or to fucking stand up for us once in a while, Major?"

Caught out and ashamed, Lorne tried to figure out how the hell he could've been blind-sided by this after spending an hour and a half with their psychiatrist. Sure, Heightmeyer had used the marriage metaphor, talked about respect in general terms. But if she'd known about _this_, that _this_ was how he'd fucked up his friendship with David, why the hell hadn't she just _said something_ about it? Shit like thiswas why soldiers never trusted shrinks, damn it. All they cared about was getting you back into the field, gun in hand, ready, willing, and able to pull the trigger.

"If you wanna start running missions again, if you want this team to fucking stay together, you're gonna have to earn _our_ respect," David announced, steel in his voice. "How the hell can we trust you to have our backs out there when you're laughing at us back home?"

"I never made any jokes about that—that part," he said, voice pitched low so Parrish would pay attention. "_No one_ made jokes about it." If anyone had, Lorne would've shut them up. Certain things could never be funny.

After a long moment, Parrish's eyes dropped, like he was unsure of his argument.

"I'm sorry," Lorne said, and Jesus Christ, how many times could a man say those words in one night? "You're right, I talked plenty about everything else. That was…" he sucked it up and made himself say it—"disrespectful. You're a part of my team, and you deserve better than that."

Parrish looked up at him, wary, and Lorne gritted his teeth at the lack of trust he'd caused.

"You both do," he amended. Because if he really wanted to be an 'effective team leader' as Dr. Heightmeyer put it, he had to do it right, and that probably meant respecting _everyone_, even the people he didn't like. Besides, he could tell Parrish wasn't going to tolerate anymore jokes about Schmitz, either. "I'll talk to Schmittie tomorrow, apologize to him, too."

"You're really gonna…" Parrish trailed off.

"Yeah, I am. And I'm gonna stop being a dick. Or at least try. Like you said, how hard can it be?" He smiled, but it was an unpleasant thing, the corners of his mouth weighed down by self-disgust.

"Yeah," the scientist agreed faintly, starting to fidget.

Lorne took advantage of the lapse in hostilities to finally get in a little defense. "Just so we're clear, though: I was never trying to force you out. The training, that was…that was my own shit."

Parrish hesitated before giving the barest fraction of a nod.

"Are we clear?" Lorne pressed, because they really needed to get this part right.

"Clear," Parrish said, and he actually looked embarrassed when he said, "So then, um…I guess _I'm_ sorry. For uh…trying to get you fired, maybe."

"Trying to get me fired, maybe?"

"Sort of. Yeah."

It wasn't much of an apology, but it was something. "Alright," Lorne allowed, making a conscious effort to let his resentment slide.

"Alright?"

"I'm gonna talk to the colonel tomorrow about our next mission. And to everyone else, about…everything. That's a promise. And if I'm not holding up my end as team leader, you might try letting me know next time, instead of filing a complaint with Dr. Heightmeyer."

"I…could do that," Parrish said, reluctant.

Frustrated, Lorne sighed, "You're okay with that, right? You still wanna be on the team? 'Cause if you think we can't work together—"

"We'll make it work," Parrish cut him off hastily. "Just get us cleared to go off-world again."

If Lorne was expecting a smile, a hand shake, an agreement to start over, he was shit out of luck. But if he squinted, he could maybe see a hint of Parrish's old excitement showing through the wariness, and that would have to be good enough for now.

Lorne nodded goodnight and turned his back, determined to keep his head high on the long walk back to his quarters. If Parrish was willing to give him another chance, there was still hope for the team, for his first command. With a few successful missions under their belts, maybe things could even get back to normal.


End file.
